


Melancholia

by prxnceling



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Brotherly Love, Depression, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Twins, Warnings Within
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-06-29 16:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15733548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prxnceling/pseuds/prxnceling
Summary: Elrohir struggles with anxiety and depression. To make matters worse, as he and his twin approach majority, it seems that he exists only as Elladan's inverse, his shadow, and will never exist without comparison to his twin. Will his family see his pain in time to save him from his self-destruction?





	1. Part 1, Chapter 1

# Part 1

 _“_ _Depression, most people know, used to be termed "melancholia," a word which…would still appear to be a far more apt and evocative word for the blacker forms of the disorder…[depression is] a true wimp of a word for such a major illness_.” William Styron, _Darkness Visible_

 

# Chapter 1

 

_Elrohir put the concealer on his face like war paint._

_He pressed lightly under his eyes, spreading the color to hide dark circles. He brushed and dabbed at his cheekbones and jaw, covering the bruises there. They always appeared mysteriously, likely remnants from a late-night training session._

_When he was done, his face looked less gaunt. He put the powder and cream away. It was his mother’s; he had not told her he was using it. It had become a necessity when his face displayed too obviously the late nights that he spent training alone, and the missed meals._

_It had started four weeks ago._

* * *

 

Elrohir had not realized that he was asleep until he jolted awake.

He let out a groggy groan and rubbed at his eyes, running his hands over his face in a feeble attempt to wake up. He stood, and his muscles protested, awkward and sore from sleeping at his desk.

He glanced out the window.

_Shit!_

He was so late! He threw on his training tunic and slammed the door behind him.

The training session was well underway by now, and Glorfindel stood at the center of it all. There were six trainees in their group, Elladan and himself included, all between the ages of ninety-five and one hundred. On the benches near the sidelines sat Celebrían and Elrond, watching intently. Elrohir’s heart dropped.

Elrond whispered something to Celebrían, pointing into the fray of trainees. Celebrían laughed at the comment. Her head came to rest on Elrond's shoulder. They were unconcerned by his absence.

The thought that they had forgotten about him was so terrible that it rang in his head for several moments, and he could neither hear nor see anything before him with the force of the revelation—it nearly knocked him off his feet. When he came back to himself, he was still standing in the doorway to the House. His hand had risen to grip at the doorframe as he swayed, dumbfounded.

He did not go to training that day.

* * *

 

Elrohir returned to his room.

When he had fallen asleep, he’d been working on a paper that was due Monday at his lessons with Erestor. He sat at his desk again and looked over the notes he had taken. The words swam before his eyes. His mind was too jumbled to focus on his work. He couldn’t write; his hand trembled too fiercely. An hour passed thus, before he was interrupted.

"Little brother!" came the cheerful voice from outside. Without warning Elladan burst in, covered in a thin sheen of sweat from training. "Where were you today? Glorfindel says you have to do extra laps next time for skipping!"

Elrohir shrugged and sighed.

"Learn to knock, Elladan. I fell asleep."

Elladan just laughed, and Elrohir felt a surge of irritation go through him.

“It’s the middle of the day, El!”

“I know that.” Elrohir grit his teeth. Elladan was always so damn cheery after training. “It was by accident.”

Still, Elladan smiled.

“Are you done with your paper?”

“Nearly,” Elrohir lied. He was still doing initial research. He’d likely spend most of tomorrow finishing the paper.

“I haven’t started!” Elladan groaned. “I’ll have to do it tomorrow, but it is so tedious. Why must Erestor give us work on our day off?”

Elrohir had nothing to say to that. His lack of response seemed to bore Elladan, who went through the door to the family living room, bound for his bedroom.

Elrohir picked up a quill and opened his book to take notes on it. The anger steadied his hand. He was soon lost in the whirlwind of work.

* * *

 

The sun fell and the bell for dinner rang, but Elrohir was not hungry. By the time the paper was finished, it was nearly dawn. He hadn’t meant to do it all in one sitting, but he supposed it was a good thing—tomorrow (or today, rather) was Sunday, the weekly day off from training and lessons, and now he would have it completely free. Elrohir felt too tired to change into a nightshirt, so he climbed into bed in his trousers and lay there.

Without work to occupy him, Elrohir could not force his whirling mind to rest. The sense of betrayal had lingered in his chest since he had seen his family enjoying themselves without him. How could they have forgotten about him? _Had_ they forgotten about him? Or had they just not cared when they saw he wasn’t there? He lay there, still and silent, thinking and turning the situation over in his head until it ached.

He stood up and looked at the mess on his desk, resisting the urge to push it onto the floor. He paced around the room with long, fast strides, hoping to ease the restlessness that was growing in his limbs.

It barely helped. He threw the window open and looked outside. The world had descended to darkness, and outside, it was still and silent. The training fields were empty. He was tempted to run down there and make up for the missed training, but he could tell that dawn was coming. The field would be used starting at dawn for the rest of the day.

An idea crept into his mind. The training fields would always be empty this late. There was no reason he couldn’t use them on a more convenient night. There was no need for him to feel so constantly behind in training; he could achieve more if he worked more. The thought filled him with hope and a sense of purpose. He sat at his desk, cleared a spot to write, and began to plan.

* * *

 

He spent Sunday alone, leaving his room only for dinner. That night, Elrohir burst into the cool night air and sucked in a breath of relief at the feeling of freedom, of quiet. He had taken the back door, where there were no guards.

He made his way to the training field and then to the armory. He chose a sword from the rack and drew it from its sheath, looking at the steel that glittered in the low light. It was heavy, uncomfortably so, and the hilt was cool in his hand.

He went out onto the field. He swung the blade in a slow arc, trying to get accustomed to its weight. Usually at training he used a wooden practice sword, and this blade was much longer and heavier than he was used to.

He swung violently, letting out a growl. He’d looked at books about training and planned all day, but now that he was here, the plans faded in the face of his anger, which grew the longer he held the blade. There was a dummy to the side, low and squat in the shape of an orc, and he swung at it. His teeth were gritted and his eyes dark, and he swung and swung and swung. Each swing took a bite from the dummy, exposing the feathers and stuffing within that held it in the right shape. Sweat dripped down the side of his face, and his hands bled, chafed from the contact with the hilt of the sword.

He did not stop until the dummy fell apart completely, the metal and wood holding it together broken, and the entire thing toppled to its side. Still, he did not feel satisfied.

He felt rather sick.

He dropped the blade with a clatter. He kicked the dummy's head as hard as he could, ignoring the sudden burst of pain in his foot—the head was made of a wooden sphere filled with heavy rocks, and it barely moved as he kicked it over and over with all his might. He let out a cry of frustration, and continued to kick until finally the pain in his toes overwhelmed his anger. He stumbled backwards and whimpered.

It took a moment for his vision to clear. At last he looked at the destruction he had wrought with wide eyes. He stood there for a long moment, startled by his own behavior. When he managed to tear his gaze away, he limped slowly back to the House.

* * *

 

When he woke the next morning, it was to his throbbing foot. Elrohir let out a low groan, burying his face in his pillow and squeezing his eyes shut. After a moment he sat up, looking to his boots with trepidation.

The first came off easily, for it was on his unhurt foot. The second was more challenging. He tugged at the boot, and pain exploded in his toes. He growled. He yanked hard and at last it came off, but not without a wave of agony that made him teary-eyed.

He gritted his teeth and examined his toes. None were obviously broken, though his healing knowledge was admittedly limited. His toes were a dark purple and bruised deep. He stood on his good leg and hobbled over to the bath, running cool water to bathe his foot and try to numb it. When he bathed it, the pain diminished, but it still ached. He washed his chafed hands.

The sun was already high; he was late for his lessons. Why had no one come to wake him?

He dressed slowly, careful of his foot, and pulled on socks. He glanced warily at his boots, and decided against putting them on.

He tried to hide his limp as he went down the hall towards the library.

* * *

 

As he entered the library, Erestor's eyes snapped to him. Elladan was already working.

"I apologize for my lateness," Elrohir said as he approached Erestor’s desk.

"What is your excuse?" Erestor said. One eyebrow was quirked.

"I overslept," Elrohir said, and he met Erestor's gaze. Erestor looked over him critically.

"What happened to your hands? Why aren’t you wearing shoes?"

"I fell," Elrohir said easily. "Outside, in the courtyard—I went for a walk last night. I bruised my foot rather badly, and my hands were scraped by the stone."

Erestor looked Elrohir in the eye for another long moment, tense and full of scrutiny. It was obvious that Erestor did not believe him, but luckily for Elrohir, he did not pry. Erestor sighed as he handed Elrohir the stack of papers for the day’s work.

Elrohir took the stack and went to his desk, barely sparing a glance for Elladan, who had looked up from his work to stare at him.

Elrohir wrote and wrote, finishing the assignment. When he finished, blood coated his hands and quill. The wounds on his hands had opened anew. He looked at them for a moment. It was strange to see himself bleeding and not feel any pain.

Elladan's eyes jerked up from his work, and he gasped as he saw the state of Elrohir’s hands.

"You're bleeding!"

“It is not something you need to worry yourself over, Elladan." Elrohir kept his tone cool.

"Yes, it is!" Elladan cried, standing as well. "I’ll—!"

"Just _leave_ it, Elladan! Just leave it.”

He walked past the dumbstruck Elladan and went to Erestor, putting his papers on the councilor's desk.

"May I go take care of my hands?" he asked. “I’m finished with my work.”

Erestor looked to him.

"Go to your father," he instructed. "I want them treated properly."

Elrohir shook his head.

"I can do it myself."

Erestor's eyes narrowed. "You will go to your father," he said firmly. "If you do not, you will receive a failing grade on today's assignment."

Elrohir recoiled, brows furrowing. Erestor had spoken to Elladan thus before, but Elrohir he was always more lenient with, giving his near perfect record as a student.

"It will be…as you wish, Master Erestor." That was a lie. He would not go to his father for anything in the world now.

 _This is important, Elrohir!_ The only thing he had over Elladan was his academic skills.

_Important it may be, but I will not go to him._

"May I go?"

Erestor nodded, and Elrohir turned on his heel, hobbling back out the door.

* * *

 

Training came more quickly today than usual, it seemed. Perhaps it was the dread in his gut at the thought of facing Glorfindel, having missed Saturday’s practice.

He dressed and quickly went down the stairs, determined to be present and on time.

“Elrohir.”

Elrohir spun around. He tensed when he saw it was Glorfindel who stood there, tall and proud.

“Master Glorfindel,” he said, and his head was bowed; he dared not look the balrog-slayer in the eye.

“You decided not to come last practice,” Glorfindel said, deep blue eyes calm. “Why?”

Oh, how he hated this. This interrogation—at first from Erestor and now from Glorfindel. What had he done to deserve such scrutiny? He had always tried his best, but no matter what he did, Elladan would continue as their favorite.

The word vibrated inside him, resounding through his chest.

_Elladan is their favorite._

“I was asleep.” It came out colder than he had intended. With such thoughts running rampant, his tone did not surprise him.

One of Glorfindel’s eyebrows shot sharply up.

“Very well.” Glorfindel’s voice was disappointed, just as Erestor’s had been, and it only angered Elrohir further. “You’ll be well rested for your extra laps, then. Twenty-five.”

A harsh punishment—twenty-five laps around the entirety of the large training field. Elrohir bit hard on his lip to hold back a retort. He let the anger, hot in his blood, fuel his running as he started on the task.

A few minutes passed before the rest of the trainees arrived, Elladan among them. They were sent to warm up as well, and they began a steady jog around the field. They were running faster than Elrohir was. Elrohir pushed himself harder. He didn’t want to look at their faces.

“Elrohir!”

The voice so close behind him meant that they had caught up—that _Elladan_ had caught up. His face was red from the strain of running and humiliation. His foot throbbed.

“Little brother!” Elladan exclaimed, running up beside his twin with a grin. “You decided to come today! How many laps is Glorfindel making you do?”

“Twenty-five,” Elrohir muttered, face dark. Elladan laughed. A few of the other trainees did as well.

“We only have to do five,” Elladan said, patting his brother’s shoulder. Elrohir shied away. “See you when you’re finished, El.”

* * *

 

When Elrohir finished his laps, he was sweaty, dizzy from exertion. His hands were numb from the cold, but his foot felt it was on fire. The other trainees had finished their warmups and lined up to practice blocking. Elrohir went quickly to pick up a practice sword from the bin, trying his best not to limp, and saw that Elladan had paired up with a young woman in their group named Gladiel. Elrohir joined with the only elf left missing a partner, the ever-stoic Rammasdir.

“Partners on the right will be blocking first,” Glorfindel said, pointing to Elrohir’s line. “Partners on the left, try to give a variety of swings at different heights and strengths. Remember that it is important to be on your toes and that blocking should involve not only the blade but the movement of your body as well. Begin!”

Rammasdir swung for Elrohir’s hip, and Elrohir brought his sword vertically to block the blow. Rammasdir drew back and reset, trying a variety of different blows, and Elrohir managed to block all of them. He felt a surge of strength, confidence.

He spotted Elladan, who was to his right. Elladan’s face was serious, and Gladiel was swinging harder and faster than Rammasdir, not taking time to reset. Elladan caught each of her blows, his body moving in tandem with his sword as if it were an extension of his being. In comparison, Elrohir’s own blocking was clumsy, weak. Rammasdir’s practice blade tapped lightly on his hip and Elrohir’s attention jolted back to him.

“Apologies,” Elrohir said. “Can you start again?”

Rammasdir did so. Elrohir caught the blade in his own several more times, but his hand was shaking now. He couldn’t tell if his trembling was born from tiredness or upset.

“You’re too stiff, Elrohir. Your arm should not be the only thing moving,” he heard Glorfindel say. Glorfindel was breathing down his neck during the next few swings, during which he tried to move his torso.

“Your feet too, Elrohir,” Glorfindel said firmly. “On your toes.”

He rose to his toes and immediately regretted it as a wave of agony rolled up from his foot through his entire leg. Rammasdir seemed to see his pain and opened his mouth to speak, but Elrohir grit his teeth.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked sharply. Rammasdir appeared reluctant, but eventually he swung again. A few trials later and Glorfindel was apparently content, as he withdrew and went to observe the next pair. Elrohir sighed with relief.

* * *

 

Anxiety gnawed at Elrohir’s gut. It always took Erestor exactly a week to grade and return their assignments, and it had been a week since he had declined to go to his father about his hands. He worried at one of the canker sores on the inside of his lip.

The bell rang to indicate that breakfast had ended. He hadn’t gone.

He had noticed Erestor’s gaze and the way it lingered uncomfortably on him over the past week. Erestor must’ve known that he didn’t go to Elrond.

_One...two...three...four…_

His hands were cold and were becoming clammy even as he counted.

_Sixty...sixty-one...sixty-two...sixty-three…_

Elrohir held his hands together, lacing the fingers and staring at them as he waited for them to stop their trembling. Why was he so afraid?

_One hundred and eighteen...one hundred and nineteen...one hundred and twenty._

He pushed the door open and entered.

Erestor was, as always, at his desk, and he did not so much as glance up at Elrohir. Elrohir was glad for the lack of his kinsman’s sharp gaze as he sat at his desk. Upon the wooden surface was the paper from the previous week, and it was lying face down so that the grade could not be seen. Elrohir turned it over.

 _FAILURE_ was written on the top in red ink.

Elrohir sighed; he had not really expected Erestor to go through with giving him no credit for the work. He did not speak, and neither did Erestor, as Elrohir set to the assignment that was laid out for the day.

Elladan entered the library a few minutes later, but Elrohir did not look up from his paper.

“The assignment is on your desk, Elladan,” Erestor said. Elrohir heard Elladan sigh as he sat.

Elrohir could feel Elladan’s eyes rest on him every few minutes throughout the next hour. His grip on his quill was painfully tight. He couldn’t focus with those eyes boring into his back, burning through him.

Elladan finished his work before Elrohir. The older twin went to Erestor’s desk and handed over his assignment. Erestor looked it over, leafing through the papers to see that they were all filled out, and then nodded tersely to his pupil.

“You are dismissed.”

Elladan turned on his heel. As he passed Elrohir’s desk, he paused. Out of the corner of his eye, Elrohir could see him hesitate.

“I’ll see you at training today, little brother,” he said. There was a long pause before Elrohir spoke.

“Do not call me that.”

He was finished. He pushed past Elladan, letting their shoulders bump. He heard Elladan leave.

Elrohir put his work on Erestor’s desk, and was going to turn to leave when he felt Erestor’s eyes on him. He let out a barely audible sigh, turning back to his teacher and waiting for him to speak.

“Elrohir.”

Elrohir looked to Erestor’s face and saw the irritation there, but kept his own face neutral. “Yes?”

“You did not go to your father.”

“No.”

“You deliberately did not do as I asked you to.”

“Yes.”

Erestor’s eye twitched, and his eyes hardened. “You would do well to give me more than one-word answers, young lord, and you will explain yourself. Now.”

“I did not want to,” he said. Erestor’s face turned stony.

“You not wanting to is not an excuse.”

“I am nearly grown.”

Elrohir did not know where this brashness was coming from, but it was tight and coiled in his chest, pulling at the inside of him and refusing to let go. Perhaps it was pride, but he did not think so...it was anger. Anger that he would never be good enough and that Erestor did not trust him to take care of himself. Anger that now Elladan had become better than him in a place he had always held dominance: Erestor’s opinion.

Erestor’s face became unreadable. Elrohir felt a pang of regret. It faded to nothing.

“You are dismissed,” Erestor said. His voice was cold. Elrohir turned his back, grabbed his graded paper and left, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

 

Weeks had passed since then. Thus, that brought Elrohir to where he was, standing at the mirror and willing himself to look more alive. The concealer helped.

It had been almost four weeks since he had started training at night. He was now constantly exhausted, hungry, irritable from lack of sleep, but he could see himself improving. His swordsmanship and archery were both markedly more precise, and the thought kept him rising from his bed every night. He’d done drills for endurance, speed, and strength, and now appeared as strong as Elladan, though perhaps wirier, for he rarely ate three meals a day as Elladan did.

In the daytime, he went to lessons and trained with Elladan and the other trainees under Glorfindel. Elrohir was more confident now that he practiced so much, but also more easily frustrated with difficult tasks. He could feel his schoolwork deteriorating. It was a price he was willing to pay.

He put the concealer back on the shelf, at last ready to face the day.


	2. Part 1, Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Elrond and Celebrían were watching them train today. By the end of warmups, Elrohir's foot was numb. He had not given it enough rest to heal, and it was too late to explain it to his parents or Glorfindel and be excused from training. That would require him to let his father examine it, which he was not willing to endure. Besides, if he took time away from training, he would fall behind.

"I'll divide you into pairs, and you can spar," Glorfindel said. "I will be watching. Do not harm one another more than bruises. Once one of you has the other restrained, call for me and I will determine the winner."

There was murmured assent amongst the trainees. Elladan dragged Elrohir to a clearer area near their parents to spar. Elrohir had expected this; Elladan always chose him as a partner when their parents were present. Elladan always wanted to give them a show.

"Are you ready, little brother?"

Elladan smirked. Elrohir felt a painful anger stab at his chest. He swung the practice sword at Elladan's neck with a wordless cry.

Elladan deflected the blow with a grunt, hand shooting out with a parry of his own, which Elrohir blocked harshly. Elladan's eyes widened.

"What...what's wrong?"

Elrohir let out another low growl and swung again.

After a few minutes of Elrohir dominating, Elladan laughed. The sound made Elrohir's vision go red.  _How dare he laugh? How dare he!_

"When did you get so strong, brother?" Elladan asked, swinging at Elrohir's chest. Elrohir stepped back to avoid him, but Elladan followed him forward, swinging again. Elrohir brought his blade up to catch Elladan's.

"I have been so," Elrohir growled out, pressing hard and sending Elladan stumbling back a step. Elladan was grinning.

"Before you would've been felled by now." Elladan swung from above. When Elrohir met his blade, Elladan gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands and shoved harshly down, knocking Elrohir onto his back. Elrohir's lungs burned for air, and the pain made the red in his vision spread and darken.

"Too easy."

Elrohir threw his sword to the side with a yell and wrapped a foot around Elladan's shin. Elladan fell onto his back as his legs were ripped from under him.

"Don't  _talk_  to me like that!" Elrohir screeched, and he scrambled on his hands and knees to Elladan, drawing his bruised fist back.

"ENOUGH!"

Elrohir froze. From beneath him, he got a glimpse of Elladan's wide eyes and his blanched face.

Elrohir had never seen Glorfindel so angry. The way his hair shone in the sun was no longer beautiful but blinding, threatening, and Elrohir stumbled to his feet and back several steps.

"What is the meaning of this, Elrohir?" Glorfindel asked. His voice was low, too calm for the look on his face. Elrohir swallowed.

"I-I'm sorry—"

"This is neither the time nor place for your petty grievances against your brother," Glorfindel said. "This is a place where I train  _soldiers,_  and you have shown today that you are not fit to be counted among them."

Elrohir's heart sank into the pit of his stomach. He could feel his gut coiling with fear, and before his eyes his own hands began to tremble.

"Go now. We will speak later of the conditions under which you may be allowed to return, but until then, you will not be permitted to attend any trainings or go on any patrols. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, Master Glorfindel."

Elrohir realized the number of eyes that were on him. Elladan was picking himself up off the ground, rubbing the dirt from his trousers, and his gaze was on Elrohir. His eyes were filled with something terrible, a mix of hurt and betrayal and confusion that made Elrohir turn away from him in shame. The other trainees were watching him too, warily, like he was a caged animal who could strike at any moment.

He turned to leave. Elrond and Celebrían rushed forward, and for one shining moment Elrohir thought they were coming to him, to ask what was wrong. But they were going to Elladan, to make sure he was all right. As he turned and walked away, Elrohir could feel their eyes boring into his back.

* * *

Though Elrohir was usually happy to return to the safety of his room, he found himself unable to settle. He paced for several minutes. Then he bathed and changed his clothes, but when he went to sit by the window and read, he could not focus on the page. His eyes burned.

"Elrohir?" There was a knock at the door to accompany the sweet voice. Celebrían.

Elrohir closed his book sharply. His heart pounded in his ears, and it seemed that the pace had increased tremendously in only a fraction of a second. He winced.

"What is it, Naneth?" He tried to make his tone neutral.

"I wish to speak with you. May I come in?"

_No._

"Yes."

The knob turned and his mother stepped in. Elrohir looked at her over his shoulder.

She was petite and quite short, and her silver hair was combed back and braided elaborately behind her head. He knew his own appearance was more disheveled, with his wet, uncombed hair dripping onto his tunic. The thought choked him, and he turned away from her.

He heard her sigh, and her footsteps approached. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, small and gentle, squeezing lightly. He looked at the horizon and swallowed past the lump in his throat.

"Are you all right, Elrohir?" she asked.

_No._

"Yes," he murmured. His eyes were burning, itching. He swallowed again.

_Help me._

"I was just...angry. He will not stop calling me little brother—you know how that bothers me. But it got out of hand."

She came to kneel before him, taking his hand. She examined the new blisters on his palm, and her face was unreadable. She turned his hand over and looked at the bruises on his knuckles, and his raw-bitten nails. He held his breath.

"Your father and I... we worry for you," she said, and with her other hand she reached to cup his cheek. He wanted so badly to lean into her touch; something held him utterly still.

"You have not been yourself lately," she continued. "Won't you confide in someone? It need not be me, if you do not wish it to be."

"There is nothing to confide," he whispered, and truly, there wasn't. He could not put this terrible feeling into words, how it felt like he was drowning and suffocating and no one could see, or they did not care. He did not know which was worse.

_What is wrong with me?_

Celebrían's eyes saddened. She rose to her feet, and as her hands left him he ached for her touch again.

"Your father wishes to speak to you before the day is out. I hope you will go to him." That was all she said before she left in a swish of skirts, and the smell of her perfume lingered as the door closed behind her.

* * *

Reluctantly, Elrohir realized he ought to apologize to Elladan. Even if he had been angry, he was wrong to attack his brother with such force. They hadn't fought physically since they were mere children. Elladan had always initiated altercations between them in the past.

"Elladan?" He knocked lightly on the door before he entered.

He found Elladan sitting on his balcony, a book about patrol and open war tactics in his lap. Elladan did not look up when Elrohir came in, nor when he came to stand beside his seat on the balcony.

"Elladan?" Elladan still did not look at him. Elrohir sighed. "Look, I'm sorry."

Elladan looked up at last, one sharp eyebrow raised in an incredulous arch. Elrohir's heart sunk as quickly as it had risen. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and looked back to the horizon.

"I am sorry that I aimed to hurt you. But...I meant what I said. I  _do_  wish you would talk to me with more respect."

Elladan's face remained incredulous. Elrohir thought it should probably make him angry, but for some reason it just made him so, so tired.

"Why won't you say anything?"

He wanted to put his head in his hands and cry.

A crawling, cold feeling spread through his chest.

_I wish you cared about me._

He didn't say anything. He took another look at Elladan, who was still looking at his book. (Elrohir could tell he wasn't reading it. He was looking at the same area of the page the whole time.) He left, closing the door softly behind him.

* * *

Over the next two weeks, Elrohir's mood stabilized. He was consistently tired, but he didn't get so blindingly angry anymore. That was better for his relationship with Elladan. It was easier to hide when he was feeling depressed than when he was angry. Elrohir assumed he was forgiven when Elladan walked into their lesson the next day and greeted him with the usual clap to his shoulder. Elrohir avoided his parents as much as possible.

He was in the middle of some research, looking through historical records of Gondolin for a paper he was writing, when Glorfindel entered the library. He was always intimidating, awe-inspiring, with his mane of golden hair that he never even attempted to tame. He was so comfortable in his own skin, and his smooth, steady gait held within it everything that Elrohir wished he could be.

Glorfindel spread his palm on Erestor's desk as he leaned down to speak to the counsellor in hushed tones. He turned and motioned for Elrohir to follow him as he made his way to the door, and Elrohir did so, leaving his work on the desk.

Elrohir had to grow his stride to keep up with Glorfindel, but no matter how he tried he couldn't come up beside him. His foot had healed now that he could sit around for most of the day, and he based his nighttime trainings around his arms and strength building rather than running.

Glorfindel stopped at the door to his office and then unlocked it, stepping in.

"Close the door behind you." Elrohir did. Glorfindel sat at his desk. Elrohir stood nervously in the doorway, and Glorfindel motioned for him to sit across from him.

"I have been watching," Glorfindel said. "And I have seen your return to...normal." Glorfindel was looking him over critically, and Elrohir cowered under his gaze. As Glorfindel's eyes settled Elrohir's his hands, his bitten-raw nails, Elrohir curled his fists and then tucked his hands behind his back.

"There is a short patrol going out in four days. Elladan has already been assigned to it. I would have you accompany him and the rest of the trainees, and if you handle yourself well, you may return to training promptly afterwards."

There was a strange, yanking combination of relief and grief within him. He wasn't sure what he was so sad about, but something within him ached.

"Thank you, Master Glorfindel," he said. He let his eyes drift to anywhere except Glorfindel's face, but after a long moment passed in silence, Elrohir looked back to him. Glorfindel was staring at him, his gaze utterly unreadable. Elrohir shifted and swallowed.

"May I go?"

"Are you all right, Elrohir?" The question was sudden and surprisingly soft. Elrohir took a moment to consider his answer.

_No._

_No._

_I'm drowning. I'm drowning_.

"I'll be all right," he said. It was hardly a whisper.

Glorfindel's head bowed. At last he waved his hand in dismissal, and Elrohir left as quickly as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment! Thank you for reading.


	3. Part 1, Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Elrohir managed to avoid Elrond until the day when the patrol was bound to leave. It was a small group. There were the six trainees: Elladan, Elrohir, Caenir, Húiel, Gladiel, and Rammasdir. They were led by four warriors: Pelingail, Tinwiel, Merilon, and Uilosson, under the experienced captain Sílon. They were accompanied by a field-healer, Anordil, who originally hailed from Eryn Galen but had lived in Imladris for longer that Elrohir had been alive. That made twelve members in total.

"Your purpose is to scout the border. There have been orc attacks there as of late, and more information is necessary to decide what our strategy will be long-term. If you have a choice, do not engage," Glorfindel instructed. He was looking at the captain, but the group was gathered around to listen, and he raised his voice so they could all hear. Elrohir stood near the rear, adjusting his quiver at his hip nervously. Behind Glorfindel was Elrond, and Elrohir kept his head down to avoid making eye contact with him.

"Your captain will give me the official report, but I hope that each individual will make his or her own observations for when you are debriefed after the patrol."

"Go safely," Elrond added. Sílon nodded.

The patrol began to disperse to their horses. As Elrohir turned and began towards his own, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He tensed.

"It is me," Elrond said from behind him. Elrohir turned to face him. Elrond's hand fell from his shoulder.

"I wish you good luck," Elrond said. There was something sad in his smile. "Though I know you will not need it. I await your safe return, my son."

The hand was back, squeezing gently, and then he was gone. Elrohir couldn't quite tell what emotion it was that was swelling and tightening in his breast, so he mounted his horse and ignored all but the task in front of him.

Elrohir looked for Elladan, and found that Elrond had gone to him. They were talking, and Elrond drew Elladan close to press their foreheads briefly together before pulling back. Elladan smiled as he mounted his horse and looked around, crossing the courtyard so that he rode next to Elrohir as the patrol exited over the bridge.

"At last we are out again, brother! It has been too long since our last patrol." The last time Elladan had been out on patrol was about six months ago, and Elrohir had not been on that patrol. A large convoy from Eryn Galen had been visiting at length. Elrond had asked that one of his sons stay behind to help run the House, and Elladan had been adamant that it wouldn't be him.

"I haven't been on patrol in nearly a year," Elrohir mused. He tried to keep his tone light. He remembered when that had been easy, though the memory was hazy now. Elladan's face eased at the sound of Elrohir's merry voice. Guilt stabbed at Elrohir's heart. All this time he'd been thinking about himself, blind to how his behavior had been hurting his family.

"Indeed! Too long. I cannot wait until we have our own patrol...I do hope Adar will send us on proper missions. This one's too small for my tastes. There is no risk!"

"Naneth would say that you should be grateful for that," Elrohir said. The thought of his mother, who he had not properly spoken to since their conversation on the balcony, made him tense. Elladan laughed.

"You know what I heard them talking about the other day?"

"What?"

"They were talking about having another child. Or children." Elladan's face lit up at the thought. "Once we come of age. Would you prefer a brother or a sister? I think it would be hilarious to see them have another set of twins!"

"I doubt that would happen." Elrohir could not imagine another child, let alone another set of  _twins,_  in their family, which was dysfunctional enough. "I suppose I'd prefer a girl, for Naneth's sake. But I think they ought to wait."

"Why?"

"I don't know. It seems strange that they would have another child when we've only just reached adulthood, and do not yet know what we will become. A baby takes up time—they might lose sight of us." It sounded incredibly selfish when he said it out loud, and he wished he hadn't.

Elladan fell silent. Elrohir mused on the thought for several more minutes before he realized that his brother was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the mood," Elrohir said. The rest of the patrol members were talking amongst themselves, the dull murmur of conversation filling the quiet, and under that were the sounds of the wind through the trees and birds chirping.

"Nay. It just got me thinking," Elladan said.

Elrohir wanted to ask  _what about?_  but he didn't want to pry. They lapsed into silence again.

"I am going to go up to the front and speak to Rammasdir," Elladan said suddenly. "I will be back." Elrohir knew he wouldn't. He spurred his horse forward and overcame Elrohir, riding up the side of the group and out of sight.

Elrohir sighed, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. After a few minutes of riding alone at the rear of the group, he found that another horse in front had slowed and come up beside him.

"Elrohir," Anordil greeted. Elrohir's brows pinched together over his nose.

"Hello, Anordil." He gnawed on the inside of his lip. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Anordil laughed. There was something hearty about her, her kinky hair, ochre skin, and eyes so dark that Elrohir could hardly tell the pupil from the iris. She laughed with her whole body. Elrohir flushed.

"I've hardly had the chance to be a pleasure yet, have I? And I am hardly one anyhow. I just thought you looked quite lonely back here."

Elrohir bristled.

"I am not lonely, though I thank you for your concern."

Anordil snorted. Elrohir's ears and cheeks burned. His frown deepened.

"I assume you have come for a purpose other than to insult me."

"Oh, Elrohir," Anordil said, and her face softened to a smile. She shook her head as if he was a child who needed teaching. "I mean not to insult you. You are dreadfully serious, my lord." She shook her head again, still smiling, and then sped up and rode on ahead of him.

Unnerved by the interaction, Elrohir rode faster. He told himself that he was happier riding alone anyhow, rather than forcing strange conversation.

They traveled towards the edge of the realm, where Vilya's protection would end. It took several hours, and when night fell, they were just at the border. Sílon held up his hand for them to stop.

"We will stay here for the night," he said. "We ought to be within the Lord's protection here. Still, we will need one trainee and one warrior at a time to keep watch throughout the night. Pelingail will organize this as we prepare the camp."

Elrohir dismounted and led his horse to a small patch of grass to graze as the group erupted with activity. A fire was quickly built, and a pot was brought and filled with water to boil. Uilosson was unloading from his pack dried meats and vegetables to make a broth, and Tinwiel had brought some coarse bread. Pelingail came over to Elrohir.

"You will be sitting out with Merilon," Pelingail said. "For the last watch before dawn. You'll be relieving Gladiel of her shift, and she will come to wake you."

Elrohir nodded his consent.

Once everyone had set up their bedrolls, they gathered around the fire to eat and swap stories. Elrohir sat between Elladan and Anordil. Sílon handed them each a bowl of steaming broth and a piece of bread.

Elrohir became aware that he was eating faster than those around him and he forced himself to slow, trying to be neither the first nor the last to finish. He hadn't realized how desperately hungry he'd become; for days he had neglected proper meals in favor of training and working. He took quick bites, but kept each spoonful shallow.

As they ate, there was a dull murmur of conversation, each person speaking to those around them. Goosebumps rose on his skin, and he turned his head to look around, finding that both Anordil and Elladan were turned away from him, involved in their own conversations. The sight of their backs made him want to cry. He watched Elladan from behind, the way his shoulders tensed and relaxed with each gesture. Pelingail, who he was speaking to and whose face Elrohir could see over his shoulder, was smiling at him. Elrohir used his bread to wipe the film of broth from the bottom of his bowl, chewing on it. It was tough and tasteless.

Anordil was looking at him, her eyes searching his as soon as he looked at her. Her gaze dropped to his hands.

"You're thinner than your brother," she said. He winced at the observation. "Why?"

"My appetite is not so insatiable as his," Elrohir said. He wished she wouldn't pry.

"You ought to eat more. You do not look healthy," she informed him. "I'm surprised your father hasn't said anything." She put her thumb and middle finger together around his wrist, and there was plenty of room to spare. He sighed and went back to eating his bread.

Anordil picked up Elrohir's bowl off the ground and went over to the pot over the fire, using the ladle to put the last bits of broth into his bowl. She brought it back to him, and though he didn't want it, the look in her eye made him reluctant to argue. He ate the broth.

The rest of the group had fallen silent, listening to Elladan tell a story of one of his and Elrohir's pranks. This one was against an unnamed, obnoxious former member of their father's council. It was an old story, one that Elladan had perfected, and he elicited laughter and gasps at just the right moments. Elrohir had never enjoyed Elladan's telling of this story; in the end, Elladan had told Elrond that it was Elrohir's idea (which, admittedly, it had been), and even though Elladan had been the one to execute the prank, Elrohir received a harsher punishment. Of course, Elladan did not mention that when he told the story. The thought made Elrohir sour.

"It was utterly hilarious," Elladan said. He nudged Elrohir with his elbow. "Wasn't it, little brother?"

"We're the same age, Elladan," Elrohir said. He could feel the eyes on him and he tensed, afraid of their stares. The trainees were still wary of him, he could tell. They'd always loved Elladan more than him, and the thought that Elrohir might've hurt him made them all angry. He felt Sílon's gaze in particular; the captain would be reporting back to Glorfindel, and Elrohir remembered that he needed to be on his best behavior if he wanted to start training again.

"But it was funny," he said, at last ending the moment of tension, and the eyes went back to Elladan. Elrohir's heart was caught between gladness that they were no longer watching him and a terrible anger at how much attention Elladan was getting; none of his peers had spoken to him at all during the entire day.

"It is time to settle in," Sílon said after another few minutes. "We will leave at dawn. You all know your watches."

* * *

Elrohir had barely drifted off when Gladiel woke him. She shook his shoulder until he opened his eyes and then went straight to her bedroll. He sat up groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Merilon was already posted on one side of the camp, so Elrohir stepped over sleeping elves to reach the other side and sat at the base of a tree, his bow and sword at his side.

Minutes passed. It was nearly dawn.

Something in the rustle of the leaves seemed off.

His eyes widened. Suddenly he saw a bow drawn in the trees, and an orc smirking with rotting teeth. Evidently, they had misjudged the border of Elrond's protection.

"Orcs!" he yelled, and Sílon sat up sharply, no sign of sleep remaining on his face. Elrohir drew his bow and shot the orc down, but not before an arrow came flying through the trees. It landed with a solid thud somewhere amongst the waking trainees. Elrohir couldn't tell who had been hit. Sílon shot to his feet, yelling at the sleeping elves to wake.

"Trainees fall back on archery! Patrolmen—to me! Everyone up! We are under attack!"

The trainees rushed back and the patrolmen forward as they were instructed. Most of the trainees looked dazed as they fumbled for their bows. Two of the patrolmen bent to pick up the fallen—Caenir, the youngest of the trainees, who had only joined their group six months ago. He was bleeding but alive. Anordil had fallen back with the trainees, and she rushed forward to snatch her pack from the ground and take Caenir, freeing the warriors to fight.

Elrohir pulled out his bow and began to shoot over the heads of the warriors, hitting a few orcs as they came out of the foliage. Luckily there only appeared to be about a dozen of them, and no more snipers were hiding in the trees.

Anordil fell back. Elrohir noticed for the first time her strength, as she held Caenir, who was probably double her weight, in her arms and lowered him carefully to the ground.

"Someone help me with him," Anordil barked. Elrohir was the only one looking back at her. Their eyes met, and something pushed Elrohir forward. He knelt at Caenir's side, lifting his head off the ground.

"You're going to be all right, Caenir. Anordil has this under control."

Anordil examined the wound lightly, tracing each corner around the arrow in Caenir's shoulder. Elrohir passed Anordil each item that she asked for from her pack, all the while murmuring soft nothings that appeared to be doing their job of keeping Caenir calm. Even when Anordil pulled the arrow free he did not let out more than a groan. Dully Elrohir could hear the captain ordering for a fire to be kindled. The fight must be over.

Anordil retreated for a moment to sterilize the needle over the fire. When she returned, she pressed the lips of the wound together and began a row of neat, dark stitches.

Caenir cried out and squirmed. Elrohir realized too late that he had stopped speaking.

"Hush now, it will only take a few moments. You're all right." Elrohir looked to Anordil for confirmation, but her head was down, focused on the task at hand. Caenir had calmed somewhat, but he still winced with each stitch, so Elrohir pressed his shoulders gently into the dirt, careful of his wound, as he continued to whisper soothing words.

"Elladan?" Caenir murmured, opening his eyes weakly.

"Elrohir."

Finally, it was done.

"Lift him up," Anordil instructed. Elrohir lifted the top half of Caenir's body carefully. Anordil passed a length of bandage under Caenir, and then Elrohir lowered him down again. Anordil took out a small bottle of paste, which she slathered on generously before wrapping the bandage and securing it.

It seemed that the entire patrol breathed a sigh of relief. Anordil packed up her things as two of the more experienced warriors unloaded a stretcher.

"We are heading home now," Elrohir murmured to Caenir. A smile flitted across Caenir's tired face.

Elrohir sat on the forest floor as the patrol prepared to leave. It was frightening to him how naturally it had come to him, the gentleness. He had felt no anxiety when he had been helping Caenir, even though it was utterly new to him.

A hand appeared in front of him. Anordil. He took it, and she heaved him to his feet. She gripped his hand a moment longer, examining his palm.

"You have your father's hands. You should not let them go to waste gripping a sword."

"Elladan has the same hands, and he is content and powerful as a warrior."

Anordil shook her head.

"If there is one thing that is most different between the two of you, it is your hands."

Something about being different from Elladan made him swell with pride. Before he had time to think of a response, she was gone, loading her supplies into her pack and mounting her horse.

"Pelingail, Tinwiel, Merilon, and Gladiel, you are to return to the House and ensure that Caenir receives the proper care," Sílon said. That was three of their experienced warriors and only one trainee returning home. Gladiel was Caenir's sister, and she hung close by the side of the stretcher. "The rest of us will continue on."

"Captain Sílon," Anordil said. "With all due respect, sir, I ought to stay with Caenir. It is a fair journey, and no others know what to do in case of infection."

"You cannot send supplies and instructions with one of his escorts?"

"It would be a high risk. You should not need me, anyhow."

Sílon thought for a moment, and then waved Anordil off to join the departing escort. The other half of the patrol lined up to continue. The sun had begun to rise on the horizon.

"I do not believe we will encounter more trouble," Sílon said. "That may well have been the group that was initially spotted at the border. Nonetheless, stay alert. There are not enough experienced warriors to defend you, now."

Elladan joined Elrohir at the rear of the group as they began to move.

"I can't believe how calm you were that whole time. I was ready to throw up the second she started stitching him up. It was disgusting," Elladan said.

"He is alive, though. I am impressed with how fast she was—he hardly lost any blood at all, if you compare it to what could have been," Elrohir said.

Elladan watched him with a strange look in his eye, and a smile that made Elrohir worry that he was the victim of some elaborate prank.

"What?"

"You  _like_  her."

"I don't," Elrohir insisted, and truly he didn't—at least, not in the way that Elladan was implying. Elladan was still giving him that  _look._

"I don't!" he repeated, shoving Elladan lightly on the shoulder. Elladan seemed thrilled by the contact. "She was rude to me earlier. Though I do admire her skill."  _And her presence._

"We'll see about that. I hope you'll let me be the best man at your wedding."

Elrohir snorted on a laugh. Elladan's grin was wide and joyful.

Elrohir's face softened. His laugh made his brother so happy, which was a testament to how rarely it sounded.

"Elladan," Elrohir said, and the kindness in his voice surprised him. "I'm sorry. I know that recently—"

"There are more! _We are under attack!"_

Elladan transformed, his face solidifying with determination, anger, his brows dark and low over his eyes. His sword was drawn. Elrohir fumbled for his bow as Elladan dug his heels into his horse's side and charged forward to the front by Sílon and Uilosson.

Elrohir began the same strategy as he had used in the last skirmish—shooting over the heads of the front line to pick off orcs before they made it there. It hadn't been long since their group had separated, but he did not know if the warriors who had begun the return journey had heard Sílon's call. He looked to Rammasdir, who had gone white as a sheet at the sight of the sheer number of orcs pouring into the clearing.

"Cover my position!" Elrohir called. "I am shooting them as they come out."

Rammasdir nodded, drawing his bow. Elrohir turned his horse and began galloping at full speed, running directly back the way they had come.

Riding so hard took more energy than he expected, and though it only took a couple of minutes to find their companions, Elrohir was panting, trembling when he caught up with them.

"We've been attacked!" he yelled as soon as they were in sight. The elves turned to look at him.

"Gladiel, stay with Anordil and Caenir," Pelingail said. "Keep moving towards home—it is safer, and we will catch up with you once we are done. Tinwiel, Merilon, to me!"

Elrohir led the way back to the battle. Pelingail came up to ride beside him, but he kept up with her.

"How many?" Pelingail called over the thundering hooves.

"At least two dozen, when I left, and they were still going strong," Elrohir called back.

Pelingail cursed under her breath.

As soon as the battlefield came into view, it was apparent that the fight was going poorly. The front line had been pushed back significantly. Elrohir took out his bow again and began to shoot; Rammasdir had deserted that post and was fighting on foot with his sword. Pelingail and Merilon did not stop, even as Elrohir pulled to the side, and they joined Sílon, Elladan, and Uilosson at the front line. Tinwiel hung back with Elrohir, crossing to the opposite side of the clearing to shoot.

Elrohir shot a couple of orcs that were moving towards Elladan. A flash of movement in a tree caught his eye, and he whirled around to shoot the orc archer before it could draw its bow.

"They are in the trees!" he called to Tinwiel. Immediately she looked upwards, and together they managed to pick off another three orcs as they climbed. Finally, the numbers were slowly depleting, and a scan of the elves showed that no one was seriously injured.

As the numbers lowered further and only ten orcs were left, Elrohir drew his sword and slid from his horse, sending her to the edge of the clearing. He ran for the front line, slashing at an orc as he made his way forward.

Thus, Elrohir had a perfect view when an orc stuck its small, curved blade into Elladan's chest, just below his ribcage. It slid in too easily, silently, like a knife through butter, and if not for the sudden shock and pain on Elladan's face, Elrohir would not have known that it truly hurt him.

 _"NO!"_  the shriek that came from Elrohir's lips was hardly a word. As Elladan crumpled to the floor, Elrohir charged, swinging his sword over his brother's bowed head and cutting the orc's head clean off. He shoved the body back so that it would not fall onto Elladan, who was crouched and grasping at his side. The ground was swiftly soaked with his blood.

"Elladan," Elrohir gasped out. He dropped his sword and knelt at his brother's side. "Elladan, move your hands—let me help you. Let me see."

Elladan looked up at him, eyes wide in shock and pain. It took him a moment to focus properly; he'd never been seriously wounded before. The other members of the patrol were rushing to them, their faces morphed in horror.

"Elladan," Elrohir said, placing his hands on the side of Elladan's face. "I need you to listen to me. We need to get you lying down so I can look at your wound. All right?"

"All right," Elladan choked out. He let Elrohir support him and lower him to the ground. Elrohir pried Elladan's fingers away and ripped his tunic open further to look at the wound.

It was deep, messy, and the orc had taken back its knife in the moment before Elrohir had killed it, so there was nothing to stop the rushing blood. Elrohir tried to remember what Anordil had done when she had first seen Caenir's wound. She'd looked it over and examined it with light hands, as if feeling it helped more than looking at it.

"You're going to be all right. Everything's going to be fine," Elrohir whispered, leaning to touch around the wound. His hands shook, and he brushed lightly against the wound itself.

His hands  _burned_  at the touch. It was a sudden, blinding pain, and he gasped, his hands and shoulders tensing. Elladan was staring at him as if something was direly wrong. Elrohir looked back to his hands to see that the wound was closing, sewing itself back together, the skin weaving and grafting. He opened his mouth to say something.

The world went black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update is a few hours late! I just moved in to college on Friday(!) and I've been very busy with orientation. Unless something comes up, future updates should be at 11am EST as usual!
> 
> That's the end of Part 1! Please leave a comment. Thank you for reading.


	4. Part 2, Chapter 1

Part 2

" _To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream_." Sylvia Plath,  _The Bell Jar_

Chapter 1

When Elrohir awoke, and his eyelids were heavy and drooping. He could hear voices. They sounded familiar and they calmed him, even though he wasn't sure where he was.

"He's awake." His eyes cracked open and he saw a mass of silver hair. His mother. Suddenly Elladan moved in to his field of vision, and his eyes were wide with relief.

"Brother," Elladan breathed. Elrond came beside him, and the sight of both of them moving at once made Elrohir dizzy. He wanted to close his eyes again.

"The orcs?" Elrohir muttered. It seemed to matter; the last he could remember was fighting, the uncertainty of whether Elladan was going to—

"Elladan! You're—"

"The orcs are gone. You healed me, brother. I'm all right. I'm all right, Elrohir."

The panic eased.

"Drink," Elrond instructed, and Elrohir felt a cup press against his lips. He opened his mouth and swallowed the sweet mixture. It warmed him to his core.

"Sleep if you need it," Elrond murmured, and his hand pushed a strand of hair out of Elrohir's face.

 _You have your father's hands._  With how gentle and soothing they were, Elrohir decided that was a good thing. That was the only conclusion he could make before he was asleep again.

* * *

Elrohir opened his eyes slowly. His throat was dry. He was wrapped in blankets.

He blinked owlishly as his eyes adjusted to the light. Elladan was sitting by the bed, his chin on his chest. He was snoring softly. Elrohir's eyes followed Elladan's arm from his shoulder down to where his hand was resting on the bed. Elladan's hand was over where Elrohir's chest was under the sheets, as if Elladan wanted to make sure his heart was still beating.

The door to the balcony was open, and Celebrían and Elrond were sitting there on a small bench. Celebrían's head was resting on Elrond's shoulder, and from her posture Elrohir could tell that she was sleeping. Elrond's hand was slowly petting her hair.

"Elladan," Elrohir whispered. He put his hand lightly over Elladan's on his chest. "Elladan."

Elladan woke with a jerk, his hand clutching onto Elrohir's. He looked disoriented, but when he saw Elrohir awake, he smiled.

"Adar!" Elladan called. Celebrían jolted awake. Their parents turned to look at them, and their faces lit up with smiles. Something about their happiness made Elrohir's heart ache.

"Welcome to the land of the living, my son," Celebrían said, coming forward and clasping Elrohir's free hand in her own. Elrond placed a hand on Elrohir's forehead and the other under his chin, pressing until he found his pulse there to measure.

"What happened?" Elrohir asked.

"What do you remember?" Elrond countered.

"I remember Elladan was wounded. I—I touched him. It burned." He looked to Elladan for confirmation.

"You healed me," Elladan said softly.

"It appears you have your father's healing abilities—magic, that is," Celebrían said. "Though they have long laid dormant."

 _Magic._  The thought sent a thrill down Elrohir's spine. He looked to Elrond, who had a pleased look on his face that Elrohir had never seen before.

"Do you wish to train as a healer?" Elrond asked.

"I…"  _I don't know._  To train as a healer would be to start anew, to give up the nearly five years of training he had gone through in combat and start as a newcomer again. He bit on the inside of his lip.

"I would...want to be a field-healer. Not a healer who lives in the House. And perhaps even do more fighting than they usually do."

Elladan looked immensely pleased.

"We can still go on patrols together!" he said, grinning. Elrohir could feel tiredness creeping up on him.

"Why did I…" He couldn't seem to find the word; his thoughts were jumbled in his exhaustion. "Why am I so tired?"

"Healing with magic comes at the price of your own energy," Elrond said. "It was a severe wound, and your first time using your ability. It took too much out of you. I do not doubt it will take you several more days to recover fully, on top of what has already passed."

"How long…?"

"Three days."

Three days was a long time. Elrohir felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier.

"Sleep," Celebrían said. She smiled.

"After you drink," Elrond said. He prepared a glass of water and Elladan and Celebrían released Elrohir's hands so he could take it and sip at it. When it was gone, Elrond took the cup. Elrohir leaned back against the pillows with a sigh.

"You should go to bed, Elladan. I have no doubt you've strained your neck from sleeping like that," Elrohir said. He felt an affection for his brother that he hadn't felt in a long time. The thought of Elladan watching over him for three days and then falling asleep at his bedside was comforting, and it made him feel loved.

Elladan smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and confirming Elrohir's suspicions.

"I suppose I could go, now that I know you are well…"

"Go," Elrohir said. "I am not going anywhere."

The last things Elrohir saw as he drifted off were the faces of his parents, watching him with soft eyes.

* * *

Elrohir woke up the next morning feeling significantly better. Celebrían brought him breakfast in his bed, and Elrond accompanied her.

"How are you feeling?" Celebrían asked. Elrond was watching him, ever observant.

"Much better," Elrohir said. He ate a blueberry. "Eager to start." Heat rushed to his cheeks at the admission.

"May I start today?" He looked to Elrond, who smiled broadly and nodded.

"If you are decided on becoming a field-healer, your training will come in two parts: training in the Healing Halls, and a combat component. Being a field-healer requires a different set of tactical skills than you are used to."

Elrohir took a sip of juice to give himself a moment to think, and to process the news.

"I will not…be in Glorfindel's training group anymore?"

"I do not think it is possible," Elrond said. "There are so many hours that must go into your healing training—with your lessons as well, there simply aren't enough hours in the day to do everything. If it is any consolation, I think you will find the field training much easier with your background from Glorfindel's group."

The idea of leaving Glorfindel's group had not occurred to him. He and Elladan had been joined at the hip since they were young children; what Elladan wanted, Elrohir wanted by extension. Elrohir was not used to wanting something different for himself. The sensation was oddly energizing.

"All right. Which part is today?"

"Lessons first," Celebrían said, almost chiding, but she was smiling.

"You should go to the Healing Halls after lunch," Elrond said. "I will be supervising your section, but I will not be your teacher—you'll learn a bit from everyone. It's less rigid of a structure than your previous training. There will be many more teachers than students present," Elrond said.

Elrohir nodded. It sounded both terrifying and exciting, and he could hardly wait to get it over with.

* * *

Elrohir didn't sit outside the library and count for two minutes. He usually did it to quell the anxiety about arriving too early or too late; he'd arrive two minutes early and then count, so that he walked in right on time. Today, he went in two minutes early. Erestor was there, reading at his desk.

"Elrohir. It is good to see you up and about." Erestor didn't smile, but Erestor never smiled, so Elrohir didn't feel disheartened.

"It is good to  _be_  up and about!" Elrohir said. He went to collect the assignment from the corner of Erestor's desk. He read it over. It was a paper on Númenórean politics. He found the book that Erestor listed as initial reading and sat down to read it.

Elladan entered a few minutes later. He went to clap Elrohir's shoulder, but it was gentler than usual, and his fingers lingered a moment longer. Elrohir looked up to him and smiled.

"Good morning."

"Morning, brother," Elladan said with a grin. He went to collect his work. When he returned to his desk, he pulled it a little closer to Elrohir's, and as Erestor began the lesson, the two of them sat together.

* * *

Elrohir went with Elladan to lunch in the dining hall before they split up to go to their respective trainings. Elladan wished him a jovial "good luck!", though he assured Elrohir that he would be sorely missed. During the training sessions Elrohir had missed during his recovery, the trainees had gone to visit Caenir in the Healing Halls. Elladan told Elrohir that Caenir was newly enamored with him, begging Elladan to give him his thanks and sing his praises. The thought made Elrohir smile.

Elrond met him at the door to the Healing Halls. He was wearing that smile again; Elrohir wondered whether he'd always wanted one of them to be a healer, but had never dared to voice that wish.

"Adar," Elrohir greeted, stopping at the door when Elrond did not move aside. Elrond placed one hand on his shoulder.

"Elrohir," he said. "I forgot to tell you such earlier, but within these halls during your training, the use of your abilities is not permitted. Once you are well-versed in traditional healing, I will help you to develop your abilities myself."

Elrohir nodded. It gladdened him anyway to think he wasn't going to have to exhaust himself all the time.

"I understand," he said. "But I—I don't know how to control—how to stop them."

"As long as you focus, you'll be just fine. Hold it back." Elrohir's face must have looked dubious, because Elrond chuckled and squeezed his shoulder.

"Trust yourself, my son." He said  _my son_  with such reverence. Elrohir could tell that something between them had changed for the better.

Elrond stepped aside so that Elrohir could step in.

He was struck by how pleasant it smelled in the Healing Halls as soon as the door opened. He hadn't been there since he was young and often injured with skinned knees; more recently, his father had provided any care he needed for him in his own room.

There was a quiet murmur of noise. The Hall was spacious, with six walls. On each wall was a door, and as he looked through he saw that each door led to a separate hallway. Healers were bustling about, dressed all in white, mixing ingredients and gathering bandages.

"We have no new cases today," Elrond said. "So, I will put you in this hallway, which is for those who have been recently admitted. I think your young friend Caenir is there."

"Is there anything in particular I ought to do?" Elrohir asked.

"Observe. Generally, the healers are never averse to an extra pair of hands—they will ask you for help if they want it."

Elrohir nodded. Elrond handed him an apron.

"I'll give you a proper uniform once it's made," Elrond said.

Elrohir tied the apron and entered the hall that Elrond had directed him to. When he turned back, Elrond was gone.

There were six doors on either side, and a few were open. Elrohir entered the first on the right that was open, finding within a warrior whose arm was in a sling. Elrohir smiled to him.

"I heard that the Lord's son would be starting today. Am I lucky enough to be your first patient?" the warrior asked. He was dark-skinned, and his eyes sparkled. Elrohir managed a smile, albeit nervous, in return.

"Indeed. Is there anything that I can do—or get for you?"

"Nothing that I can think of."

Elrohir examined the room, stopping when he saw that the pitcher on the bedside table was empty. He took it, along with an empty plate.

"I'll get rid of these," he said, as much to himself as to the warrior. Elrohir brought them outside and went back into the. He looked around for a sink, and found the closest one in a nook in the wall. He filled up the pitcher and returned to the warrior's room. He poured a glass of water and then put it with the pitcher on the bedside table.

"I am going to see if any of the others need anything. It has been a pleasure," Elrohir said. He could see the warrior's smirk of amusement as he left.

He had better luck in the second room. When he stepped in, he saw upon the bed Caenir, his shoulder unwrapped, and Anordil by his bedside.

"Elrohir!" Caenir greeted. Elrohir was nearly overwhelmed with how thrilled the young trainee looked when he saw him. He smiled.

"Caenir. How are you?"

"I am well!" Caenir said. Anordil was looking at Elrohir with a smile.

"You expected that this would happen," Elrohir said.

"I did not know about the magic, I'll admit," Anordil said. "But I told you—healing is all in the hands, and your father is among our greatest healers. Come now—I'm removing the stitches. You can watch and make me a paste for when it's done."

He nodded, coming closer.

"You'll need the ingredients first, and a bowl. It's one-part athelas, one-part water, one-part turmeric powder. The powder is orange."

He went to the main hall and found the things he needed in a large cupboard on the wall. He estimated the amounts and poured the water and turmeric powder into a bowl, as well as a spoon. He got a pestle and mortar and the athelas.

He returned, burdened with these items, and sat at the edge of the bed to observe as he began to grind the athelas. Anordil had popped half the stitches already, but he watched her lightly snip the rest, teasing them out with light fingers.

He added the ground mixture into the larger bowl and began to mix it. The result was quite a thick paste, pale brown in color. When she saw it, Anordil nodded approvingly.

"Good. We use this generally to promote healing and sanitation, particularly once a wound is beyond the point where pure athelas is helpful. If anyone asks you to make athelas paste, that is what they mean."

Elrohir nodded.

"Put some on him. We'll be wrapping it up, so you can put a little more than you think you need to."

Elrohir took some of the paste on his fingers and gently spread it across the wound, going twice for good measure. Anordil readied the bandages, rubbing a little of the paste at the center. She put a pad of bandage over the wound and then wrapped the bandage around Caenir's shoulder, securing it in place.

"There we are. You're all done for today, Caenir." She took a small container out of her apron pocket and scooped what was left of the paste into it.

Caenir reached to hook his good arm around Elrohir's shoulder. Elrohir tensed at first, and then he leaned to gently pat Caenir's back, smiling.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Elrohir said. He drew back and followed Anordil out. She was smiling at him knowingly.

"What?"

"You have an admirer."

Elrohir couldn't help a bashful smile.

"Indeed. He is very sweet."

Anordil led the way down to the end of the hallway. She knocked lightly on the door and then pushed it open.

"Echeth has the exact case that Caenir did. I want you to do as I did."

Elrohir froze, looking at her face to see if she was serious. He found no hint of jest.

"Oh. All right. Should I make more of—?"

"No. Use this." Anordil gave him the little container where she'd put the paste that he'd made before. He swallowed nervously and took it before going to his patient.

Elrohir stripped the bandage carefully off Echeth's arm, looking over the wound. It was a little messier than Caenir's, but not as wide, and there were fewer stitches. He sighed in relief.

Anordil took the discarded bandage from him and handed him a small pair of scissors.

"Let me know if it hurts at any point," he said to Echeth. He turned to Anordil. "It's not meant to hurt—is it?" She shook her head.

He paused before he touched the wound.  _Hold it back,_  Elrond had told him. He took a long breath and looked down at his hands. They weren't filled with the strange heat that had burned when he'd healed Elladan. He took that as a sign that it was safe to continue. It seemed that all he had to do to hold it back was stay calm.

He clipped the first stitch, and it came apart with a pop. Though he had touched the wound, it had not sealed over, and Elrohir let out a soft sigh of relief. He popped the rest of the stitches before he moved to carefully wriggle them out.

"This closed up quite well," he said, more to himself than anyone else. The wound was properly closed and would heal over completely in time.

When all the stitches were removed, he brushed the little black strings into the waste basket and went for the paste he had made. He slathered it on, and then found the pad and roll of bandages, carefully wrapping Echeth's arm and then stepping back to admire his handiwork.

"Very good," Anordil said. "Clean up, and we'll be onto the next."

* * *

By the end of the day, Elrohir had watched Anordil care for five patients, and treated three himself. It turned out there were many "twin cases" in the Healing Halls, and he could watch once and then do the treatment himself. He removed two sets of stitches and added one, as two new cases had come in that day, and Anordil had stitched the first and he the second. Though it had been difficult, he was lucky to have a good teacher in Anordil and a patient with a very high tolerance for pain.

"How did it go?" Elrond asked when they met at the washbasin at the end of the day. Elrohir put his apron in the basket for washing and leaned against the wall as he waited for his turn at the sink.

"Quite well, I think. I stayed with Anordil. She is a good teacher."

Elrond nodded and stepped back from the basin. Elrohir stepped forward and scrubbed at his hands.

"I heard my name," Anordil's voice, familiar by now, said from behind him.

"We were remarking upon your teaching skills," Elrond said.

"A teacher is only as good as her student. Your son is a natural. He learns exceptionally fast. He removed two sets of stitches today, and put in one, just from watching me do it."

Elrohir turned to look at them as he dried his hands, and the looks of pride on both of their faces made him blush. He smiled.

"Will I be coming back tomorrow? I told Caenir I would."

"Yes. You will train in the Halls every day, Monday through Saturday, and on Wednesdays and Saturdays, there are field trainings at sunrise that you must attend," Elrond said. "As before, you will have Sundays off. It is more than you had to do for Glorfindel's group, but unfortunately it is the only way to get you qualified before you come of age—most healers train for years, not six months, as you will. Though if Anordil's analysis is any indication, you'll be just fine."

He would be busy, but Elrohir preferred that. The monotony of his previous training was apparent when he considered how interesting today had been, with so many unique cases, and so much interaction with new people. He could not imagine he would ever grow tired of this job.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Elrohir," Anordil said. Elrohir smiled and went to find Elladan to go for dinner.

* * *

Though Elrohir usually tried to avoid eating in the Dining Hall, it did not seem so bad today. When they were finished, he and Elladan retired to the family suite and sat in Elrohir's bedroom.

"Do you remember when we were young, and you broke your wrist, and I cried?" Elladan asked. It was a sudden question, and Elrohir laughed at the strangeness of it.

"Yes, I remember."

"I did not cry because it happened—though that could've been a part of it, I suppose. But I cried because I  _felt_  it. I'm sure it didn't quite match up to what it really felt like, but it  _hurt._  I remember that."

Elrohir looked up from his book.

"Is there a point to this reminiscence?" he asked gently.

"I was thinking about when I was injured on patrol. Did you feel that?"

The thought of it dampened his mood slightly. The sight of Elladan bleeding out was one that was seared into Elrohir's mind, and he knew it would linger as long as he lived. He didn't want to think about how that situation might've ended, had his abilities not chosen that moment to manifest.

"Well—no, not really. But I was not really in a place of mind where I would've felt it, anyway, I think," Elrohir said.

"Did you used to be able to?" Elladan said.

Elrohir took a moment to think.

"I suppose. I haven't thought about it in a while. When you were upset, I used to feel it, as if it were a watered-down version of my own upset. When you were happy, it would improve my mood."

Elladan nodded. There was a rare look on his face, deeply thoughtful.

"I would…like to see that restored. If you want it as well, of course. But I…feel further from you than I ever have felt before."

Elrohir's face softened. He closed his book and stood to look Elladan in the eye.

"I admit that is partly my doing…I have had some trouble lately, and I did not want you to feel my upset," Elrohir said. "But I think that starting this new training will eliminate those worries, if today is any indication. If you truly wish to restore that bond that we shared, I would be willing to do that."

Elladan smiled. He reached to clasp Elrohir's shoulder.

"You are so much happier, now, than you were, and it has only been a day," Elladan said, shaking his head in mild amazement. "Now, how do we go about this?"

"I don't know," Elrohir admitted. "I think—well, spending more time together would be a start. Once we can anticipate one another as we used to, I think it might return in its own time."

Elladan nodded. Elrohir felt pure, blissful happiness. With his brother by his side and his new job so thrilling, it seemed like his world was perfect.

When he went to bed that night, he fell asleep easily, and with a smile on his face. He would never feel the need to train at night again.

* * *

Elrohir was yawning as he walked onto the training field on Wednesday. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, a glow of pink in the pale dark. It was chilly so early in the morning, and he hadn't known what to wear, so he'd worn one of his training tunics.

There were four elves gathered there for the field-training. They were all lithe, strangely so when he thought back to Glorfindel's training group. For the first time, he felt self-conscious about his own strength.

"Good morning," he said. They turned to him with smiles. Elrohir recognized most of them from the Healing Halls.

"Good morning!" The instructor said. She introduced them all to him—she was Fanui, and his three fellow trainees were Celevenil, Nindie, and Tonir. They were all trained healers already; his case was rare, he learned, in that he was allowed to do both trainings at once. They had a range of ages, with the eldest being Celevenil, who had only just decided to become a field-healer after having been a House Healer for three centuries. Elrohir was the youngest.

"You ought to find much of what we do easy physically," Fanui said. "But there is a different way of thinking that accompanies field-healing than regular combat. The value lies not in winning the battle, nor necessarily in eliminating risk to oneself. The goal is to eliminate risk to the patient and treat them as quickly and effectively as possible."

Elrohir nodded.

Fanui had them jog a warm up lap and then do static stretches. Their first task was archery, which Elrohir quite enjoyed. The atmosphere was much less stressful than Glorfindel's training, as everyone was equally focused on one another and themselves; Glorfindel made sure everyone was only focused on their own progress, which, while productive, was torturous when Elrohir couldn't get the hang of something. Now, if someone missed, the group laughed and offered encouragement.

Elrohir hit the targets easily, and he could see that the others were impressed with him. They all congratulated him when the drill was done. His heart swelled.

The next part of their training was focused on simulation of a battle. The job was to extract a wounded warrior from within the fray of an ongoing fight and move them to a safe place. A large bag of sand was to represent the fallen, and one of them was to play the healer, while the others acted as warriors and tried to make the healer's job more difficult. This was apparently a drill they did often, and the others were excited for it.

"Our newbie can go first," Fanui said. Elrohir's stomach lurched with nervousness, but he nodded. He took his place by a tree at the edge of the field. After a moment, Fanui whistled and the drill began. The other trainees fought one another with wooden knives and tossed beanbags that represented arrows.

Elrohir spotted the sandbag on the opposite side of the field. He dashed for it, rolling under a swinging blade and springing back to his feet with the momentum it gave him. He was about halfway there already. He jumped, and a beanbag landed where his feet had been.

Nindie had begun to chase him with her wooden blade outstretched. He sprinted forward, grabbing onto the sandbag. She was getting closer and closer, and he searched for a way out.

The moment before she was upon him, he picked a beanbag from the ground and tossed it at her, hitting her collarbone. The rest of the trainees burst into laughter and cries of thrilled dismay. Elrohir took the moment to run back to his spot at the tree with the heavy sandbag over his shoulder.

"Very well done, Elrohir," Fanui said, obviously impressed. "A creative solution. Come now and take Nindie's knife, and she will take her turn. Put the bag in a new place."

He did so. Nindie handed him her wooden knife and patted his shoulder, chuckling with appreciation for his success. He dumped the bag near the middle of the field, and his heart was light.

* * *

That Sunday, which was their first day off after Elrohir changed to healing training, Elladan and Elrohir decided to go for a walk and a picnic for lunch in the woods. Celebrían was adamant that she select the items in their picnic basket for them, so that they didn't just bring treats.

When they were packed and ready to leave, Elladan carried the basket and they ventured into the woods.

"It's hot," Elladan moaned, and Elrohir rolled his eyes.

"It is warm, for April—but that is good," he said. He quite liked the heat himself, for when he was cold, he never could seem to get warm. "You'll have your winter soon enough. Let me enjoy the heat!"

Elladan grumbled, though it was clearly half-hearted. They wandered, eventually veering off the path towards a stream.

"I bet you can't catch a fish," Elrohir challenged as they finally came to the river. It was a drill that Glorfindel used very occasionally, sending his recruits out into the river to catch fish with their hands. It was difficult, for they had to stand impossibly still for the fish to come close, and then with immense speed and precision to catch and hold them. Elrohir had never seen anyone but Glorfindel himself succeed at it.

"Challenge accepted!" Elladan said. He put the basket under a tree and took off his boots, rolling up his trousers. He wriggled his bare toes as he stood and waded into the cool water.

Elrohir pulled off his boots and slid his tunic from his shoulders. He had brought a change of clothes in his pack—well, two changes of clothes, as he knew that Elladan would not think so far ahead. He waded in and then, impulsively, threw his legs out in front of him and dunked his entire body in the water. He was a fair way downstream from Elladan, so as not to disturb his fish-catching efforts.

Elrohir moved powerfully through the water before breaching it and shaking his head, his hair spraying water around him like a wet dog.

"You're going to regret getting all wet!" Elladan called to him. It was almost comical to watch him trying so hard to stay still; he was usually so fidgety. His fingers were spread in the air, as if feeling the wind would give him a better idea of when a fish would come by. Elrohir swam a little closer to him. He dunked his head again, and when he opened his eyes underwater, he could see a few grey fish going by. The world was blue and quiet except for the dull roar of the water.

He swam slowly towards Elladan, careful to stay behind him. When he was close enough, Elrohir reached to lightly tickle the back of Elladan's ankle with a strand of his hair. Elladan's hand jolted back to grab him, evidently thinking he was a fish, and Elrohir grabbed his hand and yanked, flipping him over and sending him into the water with a colossal splash.

As Elladan's face came into view beneath the water, his brows were raised nearly to his hairline. Elrohir snorted on a laugh, but he snorted in water and immediately stood to sputter and cough. Elladan surfaced after a moment, and though he looked like he wanted to shout, the sight of Elrohir coughing evidently convinced him that justice had been served. After a few moments Elladan started to laugh, and Elrohir laughed a little. His coughs morphed into chuckles.

"That was good, brother!" Elladan said.

"You should've seen the look on your face!" Elrohir said, laughing. Elladan splashed him for the comment, and Elrohir splashed him back, and soon they were splashing and wrestling in the shallow water.

They were both laughing and gasping by the time they were done. Elladan had started shivering, and Elrohir tugged him onto the shore.

"I brought a change of clothes for you. Unless you're planning to go back into the water?"

Elladan shook his head. Elrohir pulled a towel from his bag and tossed it to his brother, and then a tunic and trousers followed.

"You always know what we'll need," Elladan said warmly. He changed without a thought for decency. Elrohir just changed his trousers and put on the tunic that he had left at the shore. He lay their wet clothes in the sun to dry.

"What did Naneth pack?" Elladan wondered aloud, pulling a variety of fruits and two sandwiches from the bag. They sat in the shady spot beneath the tree, towels under their hair, and ate and drank. Elrohir searched in the basket when he was finished and found amongst all the extra food two tarts, and they each ate one.

"Have you felt any difference?" Elladan asked after a while. Elrohir knew that he was referring to their bond.

"I don't know. I've been so wrapped up in the newness; I have not paid enough attention to it, I admit."

Elladan reached over and pinched him hard on the arm. Elrohir opened his mouth and moved to push him away, and Elladan put his hands up in surrender.

"I wanted to see if I would feel it," he said. He lowered his hands. "I didn't. But I felt your annoyance afterwards."

Elrohir cuffed the back of Elladan's head, and felt a swell of amusement that was not quite his own. He grinned.

"I felt you laugh!" he said. Though Elladan hadn't laughed aloud, his soul had laughed warmly, and it soothed Elrohir's heart. Elladan was smiling at him.

Elrohir thought he would never be sad again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elrohir has a good week!  
> A note on Caenir’s newfound devotion to Elrohir: I like to imagine that from Caenir’s perspective, Elrohir looked much like Tauriel did to Kili when she was healing him in the second Hobbit movie. Even though his magic hadn’t manifested yet, it was still there and he was glowing and ethereal, so now Caenir thinks of that every time he sees Elrohir :’)  
> Please leave a comment. Thank you for reading!


	5. Part 2, Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Of course, the assumption that he would never feel low again was mistaken.

The next day, the anxiety that he had pushed back successfully thus far began to creep up on him again. It was breakfast time. He felt nauseated at the thought of going to the dining hall, where everyone would watch him pick what he wanted from the buffet, and he'd have to sit and talk with his family. When Elladan came to his room, Elrohir shook his head.

"I'm not hungry," he said. Elladan shrugged and went off to breakfast. Elrohir sat with a grumbling stomach in his room and tried to read.

It was the beginning of the end.

* * *

They had spent the last Sunday together, and Elrohir had assumed that it was the start of a habit; after all, he and Elladan rarely saw one another outside of lessons now. Elrohir had enjoyed himself on their picnic and had thought that Elladan had, too, and if they were truly to rebuild their bond, time together was the most important factor.

"What do you want to do today?" Elrohir asked Elladan the next Sunday morning. They'd eaten breakfast, and now Elladan was getting his cloak from the hook in the living room. Elrohir stood up to get his own cloak as well.

"Oh, I—" Elladan stumbled over the words. "I-I was going to go to Glorfindel's office. He invited me to go discuss some things with him, and then we are going to go travel the new patrol route."

Elrohir felt his heart fall. He swallowed and turned his face away, putting his cloak back on the hook.

"Oh. All right."

"We will do something next week, brother—I promise."

The promise was hollow, and Elrohir knew it. Elladan left him.

* * *

Elrohir was subdued by this exchange for the rest of the week. Something about it unnerved him. Of course, it was important for Elladan to go with Glorfindel, especially when invited specifically, as he was hoping to become a patrol captain. Glorfindel provided invaluable expertise that he would need if he wanted to be promoted thus. But Elrohir had thought that Elladan considered reforming their bond an important, and certainly more immediate, goal. That Elladan had brushed him off without warning or apology made him question his brother's devotion to that wish.

These thoughts tumbled and twisted in his head that Thursday, as his shift in the Healing Halls was ending. He sighed heavily as he restocked the shelves, the mindless task doing little to occupy his thoughts. He looked down when he felt a presence beside him.

"You are troubled." It was Anordil. She took some of the boxes from his hands and started to help him with the task.

"I am all right," Elrohir said.

"You have been troubled all week," she insisted. She put the last box up on the shelf. "Come to dinner with me."

Her forwardness surprised him. He followed her down to the dining hall. He wasn't sure if he would've eaten dinner today—he didn't really feel up to it, especially not in the dining hall—but he would not let her down, and he doubted she would let him.

"Tell me of your troubles," she said as they sat down with plates of food from the buffet. Elrohir hadn't gotten much. Anordil had piled her plate with food.

"It's really nothing," he said mildly, but a sharp look from her over the top of her plate made him give in. "I had thought that my brother and I were going to do something on Sunday, but Glorfindel invited him somewhere, so he went. I ought not to let it bother me so much."

"Well, it's hardly considerate of him, but you're right," she said between bites. He didn't know why it bothered him so, and this conversation was doing little to help; he felt the overwhelming urge to rise from his chair and storm off without a word. Why was he even here? Why had she felt the need to force him down to the dining hall when all he wanted was to be left alone?

"He said we would go somewhere this Sunday instead," Elrohir said. Anordil looked up at him and did not say a word, and he could tell that she was as skeptical as he was. As much as Elrohir loved his brother, he was quick to make promises, and he rarely kept them. If something more important came up, Elladan would abandon their Sunday plans in a heartbeat.

"I hope that you do," Anordil said. Elrohir looked down at his plate. His appetite was gone.

"I'm not very hungry. I think I'm going to retire," he said softly, rising from his seat. Her eyes followed him. He could see her examining his wrists, where she had first noticed his thinness on patrol, now four weeks ago. He was less bony now, he knew, but he could tell that she was not satisfied.

"I will see you tomorrow," he said. He turned and left.

* * *

Elrohir had been lying on his bed for over an hour. It was Sunday. Elladan had gone to a day-long training with Sílon, Glorfindel, and several other captains, and had this time apologized profusely for deserting him. Elrohir found that the exchange, though he had anticipated it, had drained him of all energy and desire to do something with his day. He was content—though perhaps "content" was not the right word—to lie there.

A knock came at the door. Anordil let herself in. They shared a look.

"Get up," she said after a moment of silence had passed. She picked up his boots and tossed them at him. "We're going out."

They landed on his bed beside him. He stared at her, bewildered, as she moved around the room.

"Put your shoes on!" she said sharply, and at last he sat up, pulling his boots on. She was moving with a degree of force that was unusual.

"Are you angry with me?" he asked timidly, though he wasn't quite sure what she might be angry with him for.

Her face softened.

"No," she said. "Not with you. Come now."

He stood. She left and he followed her silently.

"Where are we going?" he asked. She was leading him towards the stables.

"Into town. The market's in today," she said. The Last Homely House was surrounded by small settlements that stayed close under Elrond's veil of protection, but Elrohir rarely ventured to them; he had everything he needed at home.

He got his horse, Elerrocco, from her stall and she nuzzled his shoulder. He smiled, petting her between her eyes.

"This is Gilroch," Anordil said. She led her own horse from the stall and over to him. It was a dark brown, nearly black, mare who seemed a bit more impatient than Elerrocco, who stood still and docile.

"You are quite the rider," she said. "I saw you on the patrol."

"Well, it is in the name," he said, releasing a reluctant smile.

" _Elf-knight?"_

"Elf-rider would be the other translation," he said. "And the one I prefer." He had always loved riding; he wasn't quite sure when he'd stopped doing it frequently. He realized how much he had missed his horse now that she was here.

They mounted and set off, and he followed Anordil's lead on the wooded path. He had not been this way before. They went slowly, but Anordil assured him it was not far.

When they came upon the town, the square was bustling with activity. He feasted his eyes upon the vibrant colors that surrounded them, fruits and fabrics and painted murals. There was a wondrous smell on the air, and Elrohir's stomach rumbled with anticipation.

"There's a pasture where we can leave the horses," Anordil said. They maneuvered through the crowd carefully, and Elrohir took in the sights with eyes wide open. There were dozens of stalls with a variety of wares: candies, foods and jars of jam, fine wines, trinkets and jewelry, art and paintings, books in stacks. From the other side of the square there was a small band playing lively tunes. The music filled him with energy and joy.

They left their horses at the pasture.

"I'll be back soon," Elrohir whispered to Elerrocco and she nickered, headbutting him affectionately before stooping to graze.

"Is there something in particular you want?" he asked Anordil.

"No. But the atmosphere there is worth the ride. Isn't it?" He nodded. Already he felt better, excited.

"It reminds me of Eryn Galen," Anordil said. "They are livelier there, less poised. More fun."

"I'd like to visit," he said. He'd never been outside the valley, besides to visit his grandparents in Lothlorien every few years.

"You should! Once you come of age, perhaps you could travel there to train with their healers. There is an abundance of knowledge there, and they are very close-knit. I think you'd enjoy yourself. Are you hungry?"

"Yes," he said. He followed his nose and looked around for the source of that wonderful smell. He spotted a small stall and he pointed. "That smells delicious."

She smiled and walked through the throng of people. As they came close to the stall he examined the food they were selling; it was meat and beans and vegetables wrapped in thin bread, and it was unlike anything he'd seen before.

He realized belatedly that he had no money, and a swell of hunger and disappointment combined with an ugly twist in his gut. But Anordil stepped forward and asked for two of them, holding out two coins. The cook handed her one of the delicacies in each hand, wrapped in thin paper. She handed one to Elrohir.

"You didn't have to pay for me," he said, but he took it gratefully.

"Nonsense. I dragged you here, didn't I?"

"I'm glad you did," he said softly. She smiled at him, and it was dazzling.

He took a bite, and it was warm and spicy and so unlike the food at the House. He took another bite as soon as he could.

"You still haven't been eating properly," she said, and though it usually would've diminished his mood, now he only laughed.

"I would if the food at home was like this!"

She laughed. She was very nearly done. He had never seen a woman eat the way she did, in large helpings and messily. The ladies in Imladris were so composed, but Anordil did not care what anyone thought of her. He ached to be like her.

They finished their food and went to the next stall over. It was a stall only for scarves and sashes, not for wintertime but simply for fashion's sake; they were beautiful and incredibly thin, soft to the touch. They were vibrantly patterned and colored.

They went through so many stalls that they became a blur of smell and color. He met many people, kind and warm and passionate about their crafts. He didn't find anything that he wanted for himself, but he was eager to return with money to buy things that caught his eye for other people. A beautiful eagle-feather quill for Erestor, and a soft sash that matched his favorite deep purple robes; an ornate hairpiece in the shape of a flower for Glorfindel; for Elrond, a book of old tomes with beautifully colored illustrations; for Celebrían, sweet lemony perfume; and for Elladan, leather vambraces that were soft and embroidered with images of the night sky.

They came to a stall filled with trinkets, made of glass and thin metal, designed not to sit but to move. They were almost like toys, though they were much too fragile to be suitable for young children. A bird on a string twirled and its wings rose and fell as it rotated in the wind, and Elrohir looked at it, enthralled.

"These are amazing," he murmured to Anordil. She was looking at the smaller trinkets, and she showed him a fish that swam and dipped when she turned a little handle.

They spent several long minutes in the stall, admiring its wares. After a while Elrohir lingered near the doorway, ready to move on. Anordil handed him a paper bag with the two apples they had bought earlier for their horses.

"Go on ahead. I will meet you at the pasture," she said. He almost objected to say he was happy to wait, but she had already turned away, so he left.

It was now nearly evening, and Elrohir was surprised at how quickly the day had gone by. He walked through the hustle and bustle of the market and found he was smiling, humming to the tune that the musicians were playing. Around the edge of the square there were colored lanterns, and a young woman was going around and lighting them with a long match in preparation for the approaching sunset.

He came to the pasture and Elerrocco trotted over to him. Gilroch followed behind. The two had obviously become friendly.

"Here you are," Elrohir said, holding the apple in a flat palm for Elerrocco. Gilroch pushed forward and took it from him. He nudged her away as she chewed and held the second apple for Elerrocco.

"How was your day?" he asked. Elerrocco chomped for an answer. He laughed and ran his hand over her mane affectionately.

Several minutes later, Anordil approached, a new paper bag in her hand.

"Do you want to get dinner? We ought to head home soon. We did not tell your father where you were going," she said.

The thought of returning made Elrohir suddenly sad. He didn't want to go home. He didn't want to return to his bed and his family when he had so enjoyed himself here with her. And he most certainly did not want to have to explain himself to his father.

"I am hungry," he said. He wasn't, really, or at least not enough to eat right now, but he wanted to postpone leaving as much as he could.

They went to a different stall and got warm stew. Anordil got a small bottle of cherry wine for herself and an apple cider for him. The sun was slowly beginning to set as they sat down on the grass at the edge of the market and began to eat. Some of the stalls were closing for the night.

"I got something for you," Anordil said after a while, and Elrohir's eyes snapped to her. She took out her paper bag and handed him its contents.

It was a trinket from the shop with the moving figurines. It was a small silver turtle shell, green and blue gems decorating its back. There was a small button on the bottom. When he pressed it, a head and four small legs emerged from the shell. The turtle's face had a carved smile.

"Thank you," he said. As he released the button, the head and legs withdrew once more. It was clever, and the knowing smile on her face told him she had picked it for a reason. He didn't acknowledge the underlying message, but he pressed the button again and watched the head poke out.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Anordil asked. Elrohir smiled.

"I did," he said. "But still, I do not know—why did you bring me here?"

"Because I enjoy your company," she said, as if she could not believe his question. "And I was going to go anyway. Small adventures—well, adventures of any size, I suppose—are better with a friend."

 _A friend._  The word reverberated through his heart and mind and warmed him. He felt grateful to her for making this such a wonderful day, and for being his friend.

* * *

When he got home, he went first to his parents to apologize for having left without their permission. They took it surprisingly well. He then went to bathe, for his hair was tangled and greasy from the day of excitement.

As the bath ran, he put the little turtle on his nightstand and pressed the button several times, watching the head emerge and retreat. After a few minutes he managed to tear himself away, and he left the trinket and went to the bathroom. He undressed and lowered himself into the hot bath, and his muscles slowly relaxed.

His parents and Elladan were talking outside the bathroom door in the living room. Elladan sounded excited but tired, and he was telling them all about his day. Elrond and Celebrían asked him questions. He could hear the smiles in their voices. They hadn't asked him any questions when he'd told them where he'd been.

Elrohir sank under the water and as it came over his ears, their voices faded to nothing. His head fully submerged, he kept his eyes closed, trying to dispel the strange tension that had filled him at the sound of their voices.

He thought back to his time at the market, trying to revive the good feelings he'd felt there. It was impossible. As he thought to each moment they felt suddenly negative.

 _A friend,_  she had called him. He'd thought it true at the time, but she hardly knew him, and had not gotten through his tough outer shell. She wouldn't like him when she did.

His heart was pounding now in his ears. He sucked in a breath.

Immediately he had a mouthful of water and his lungs were burning. He shot up and coughed.

"Elrohir?" It was his mother's voice from outside the door, concerned. "Are you all right?"

"I j-just swallowed w-water," he managed to croak out between coughs, and he heard her withdraw. When he got himself under control, his throat was burning. There was dread in his gut.

* * *

Caenir had been allowed to leave the healing halls less than a month after he had been injured, on the condition that he would return for examination every Thursday. Caenir was thrilled with the prospect, but Elrohir was flattered to find he was sad to leave and lose Elrohir's frequent company.

That Thursday, Caenir was due in for his first follow-up. He was now at training three days per week, and Anordil was concerned about the strain on his shoulder, but when he came he seemed happy.

"How is your pain?" Anordil asked.

"It hurts sometimes in the cool of the morning. But truly, it is not so bad," Caenir said. He slid his tunic from his shoulders and Elrohir went forward to examine the thin scar. He took a long breath and calmed himself before he did; it was the only way to ensure he did not accidentally use his ability, which he still wasn't allowed to do. It was easy to contain and hadn't reared its head since he'd first used it. He took that as a testament to his self-control and it brought him a small measure of pride.

Elrohir lead Caenir through a series of exercises, and Anordil recorded his responses and ability.

"I'm going to get you a heating compress," Anordil told Caenir. "If you leave it on the windowsill, it should warm enough in the sun by the time you wake that it will be soothing to your shoulder. I'll be back," she said, addressing Elrohir and reaching to brush his arm with her fingertips. He nodded to her and helped Caenir through another stretch.

Caenir's lips were pressed thinly, as if something was begging to come out. Elrohir raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Are you courting her?" Caenir asked. Elrohir smirked.

"No. The elves of Eryn Galen have a more favorable view towards contact, that is all. She is my friend."

He'd come to terms with their friendship over the last few days. Even though it made him nervous, it was not absurd for her to consider him a friend—they saw one another every day, after all, and had gone out last weekend and planned to do so this weekend as well.

Caenir still looked a bit suspicious, but he let the subject drop.

Anordil came with the compress and instructed Caenir on how to use it, after which he left, though not without another knowing glance over his shoulder to Elrohir.

"Do you still want to go to the market on Sunday?" Anordil asked.

"Yes," he said. "Do you?"

"Yes."

That was all that needed to be said. He liked that with Anordil, the silence did not need to be filled the way it did with his family. He could say what he thought, and nothing more.

* * *

They went to the market that week, and Elrohir bought the gifts and left them with notes for Erestor, Glorfindel, Elladan, and his parents; he was too anxious to present them in person. The next Sunday he and Anordil decided to go riding; Anordil had to go for a shift in the Healing Halls in the afternoon, so they could not spend the entire day together. They went to the stables to get their horses in the early morning.

Elrohir was feeling low. He was having more trouble hiding it than he usually did; perhaps it was because he knew that Anordil would see through any façade he could muster. She was perceptive, especially when it came to him.

"Did you eat breakfast?" she asked him. He shook his head. It was hard to keep walking with how low his energy was, and he didn't think he could find within himself the power to speak. He heard her sigh.

"You ought to when you get back. Riding will lift your spirits."

He hoped she was right.

They went into the stables and he went to Elerrocco's stall. She was warm, loving, and seemed to understand his upset as she nudged his head lightly with her own. He felt too tired for a smile, but he let his head rest against hers for a long moment before mounting and guiding her out of the stables.

Anordil did not come beside him, but he could hear her horse trotting behind him.

He was glad that she didn't ask him any questions. It seemed that she understood better than anyone else that he didn't much like talking. As they left the stables and came to the empty forest path, he urged Elerrocco with a soft word to speed up, and as soon as the path straightened she flattened into a gallop.

He leaned close over Elerrocco, gripping at her mane and holding fast, loosening his muscles and moving with the rhythm of her gait. His hair whipped about him and he spit out a mouthful of it, at last letting out a breathless chuckle. The way the wind rushed by him and the world blurred at the sides was utterly exhilarating, and adrenaline rushed like a sweet river through him, awakening his body and mind from their rest. He leaned further forward as Elerrocco reached her top speed, and there was nothing but the sound of her hooves on the forest floor and the whoosh of wind around him.

He felt her tire after several minutes and he sat up to let her slow down. When she had slowed to a trot, he glanced behind him. Anordil was a decent distance behind, and he turned his horse to face her as she came beside him.

"If only I could rival your skill, I am sure Gilroch could go as fast as Elerrocco," Anordil said. "Alas, she is stuck with me." Gilroch snorted in what seemed like agreement and Elrohir chuckled.

"We all have our gifts," he said. He could hear his father's voice overlaying his own and felt suddenly guilty that he quoted Elrond and pretended he was wise himself. He gripped Elerrocco's mane again and wished that he hadn't felt the emotion, for it ruined a moment of happiness that he had hoped to draw out longer.

"I should go have breakfast," he said. Riding was stressful on the body, and his stomach rumbled in protest that he hadn't eaten beforehand. He sighed softly, hoping Anordil wouldn't hear as she turned her horse towards home. He came beside her, and she seemed to sense the return of his foul mood.

"You can talk to me, you know. Though I expect that you doubt it will help."

The words unveiled something ugly inside him and he swiftly tried to cover it up again.

"It wouldn't," he said. He sighed and she sighed at the same time, and she chuckled. They rode back in silence, but he remembered to be glad that he was in such a mood here with her in the open air, instead of alone in his room. He felt immensely grateful that she'd put up with him when he got back and realized how insufferable he'd been.

* * *

Elladan had a rare Sunday free. It was the middle of May, and he regretted that he had hardly spent any time with Elrohir that month; truly he had hoped that by now they would've spent time together and their bond would've flourished again. It had four weeks, after all, since they'd gone on their picnic. Their bond had strengthened, perhaps by the sheer force of their combined will, but only barely.

"Elrohir?" He knocked on his brother's door. "Are you in there?"

There was no reply, so Elladan let himself in. The room was empty.

"Adar?" Elladan called. "Where is Elrohir?"

"He's gone out riding with Anordil," Elrond said from the other room. "It's only for a short while. She has something to do at lunchtime, he told me."

Elrond had told him before about Elrohir's weekly outings with Anordil. Elladan barely remembered her from the patrol, but it seemed that she and Elrohir had grown close. He felt a terrible swell of jealousy unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Elrohir had never had a friend that Elladan did not know.

Elladan left Elrohir's room and went to sit in the living room. He heard his father leave. He tried to focus on his book, but his mind was whirring, and anger grew hot and tight in his breast. He had thought that they'd agreed to build their bond again, and Elrohir had said himself that what was required for that to happen was more time spent together. Sundays were meant to be  _their_  days. Sure, Elladan had missed several Sundays, but those were for important trainings and meetings, not for plans with anyone other than Elrohir. Surely Elrohir understood the difference!

He heard Elrohir enter his room and waited several minutes to try and calm down before he went to talk to him.

_It's all right, Elladan. It's not even lunchtime. There's still plenty of time left in the day._

"Elrohir?" he called again.

"Come in," Elrohir said. His voice held the weight of a sigh. When Elladan came in, Elrohir was at his desk, papers splayed in front of him for the week's essay and a plate of breakfast at his side. His shoulders stooped over his papers, and his chin rested on his hand.

"I had hoped that you would want to go out and do something today," Elladan said. "Perhaps we could follow the paths behind the waterfall. It should be dry enough now." In winter and spring, it was unsafe to follow those paths, for they were often slippery with water from snow melting in the mountains. Now, they ought to be safe, and Elladan knew Elrohir loved the view from behind the waterfall.

"I am very tired," Elrohir said. His voice was soft. "Could we do it next week—or sometime during the week, after training?"

Elladan's eyes suddenly burned, not with tears but with the force of his vision darkening to red. The anger he had managed to push down resurfaced with force, and he found that his teeth ground together with an enormous noise within his skull.

"I see," he said, and he could see Elrohir turn to him and his face morph in shock at the suddenness of his angry tone. "You have time for her, but not for me. I had thought we were agreed in our goal."

"That's not it, Elladan—"

"Isn't it?" Elladan growled. Suddenly it made terrible sense. "You're in love with her."

"I'm not, Elladan—Elladan, she is my friend." Elrohir was pleading with him now, but the implication that Elladan could not see sense just served to make him angrier.

"You've made your choice." Elrohir opened his mouth and Elladan's hand shot up to silence him. " _Don't_  speak. Your actions have made your feelings clear enough."

He stalked out and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Elrohir couldn't stop crying.

He cried at the slightest noise for the rest of that Sunday, and at any provocation the day after. Elladan's anger always made Elrohir feel pathetic and thoroughly terrible, wrought with guilt. He stood now in the Healing Halls, trying desperately to keep his composure.

"Are you all right?" It was Anordil, and her hand was on his arm as he went to refill the jug with fresh water. He shied from her touch.

"I need to talk to you," he managed, though at the sound of her voice and her care his throat had clogged and his voice had risen in pitch. "After we are through today."

Her brows were knitted, but she nodded and did not say a word. He was overwhelmed with gratefulness as she withdrew and he felt suddenly like he was going to cry again. Hastily he excused himself to go to the bathroom.

 _I can't do this._  The thought rushed through his head as he let himself sink slowly to the floor. His vision was blurred with his tears and the colors before him swam sickeningly.  _I can't do this._

To trade a friendship for a better relationship with his brother seemed both impossible and inevitable, for he would do anything for Elladan. In the day that had passed, Elladan's anger hadn't diminished at all; he hadn't said a word to Elrohir, even at lessons, and had not accompanied him to lunch. Elrohir couldn't bear the brunt of his brother's anger.

 _I can do this,_  he thought. He rose and dabbed at his face with a towel.  _I can do this. For Elladan._

He swallowed and let out a final hiccuping sob. He let his face fall to impassiveness as he stepped back into the Hall.

* * *

"You wanted to speak with me," Anordil said. Elrohir was impressed that he'd held himself together this long. It was just the two of them in an empty hall, and though his eyes darted for somewhere else to look, they kept landing again on her face.

"I am sorry," he whispered. Her face grew more concerned.

"What for? You haven't done anything wrong."

"I can't—I can't come with you to the festival on Sunday." That had been their plan for the upcoming day off. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Elrohir. That's not what you're so upset about, is it? We can do something another time."

He shook his head. He didn't know how to convey to her the depth of his sorrow.

"I can't," he said. "I don't want to see you again, outside of work. I can't do this anymore."

Her mouth opened and for a moment he thought she was going to say something, but then he realized that the shock had slackened her jaw. It took a moment for her to gather her thoughts and he saw her swallow.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No," he whispered. His voice was growing huskier with each word and he did not know how much longer he could speak without crying. "No, it's me. I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Elrohir," she said. "If that's what you want, that's all right." She paused, and he heard her take a deep breath. "…I will see you tomorrow."

She left him there. As soon as she was gone, he felt the sob tear itself from his throat, and he wept for the friend he had lost.

* * *

Elrohir wasn't sure how Elladan found out that he had talked with Anordil, but he did. Without a word exchanged between the two of them, Elladan returned to himself, jovial and caring. Elrohir knew that he had made the right decision. He moved the little turtle that Anordil had given him from the bedside table to the bottom of a drawer and did not look at it again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some may notice that Elladan's brashness/anger/temper are not a characteristic I give him as strongly in my stories with him later in the timeline (namely Three Wasted Years). Elladan's anger is a sign of the twins' unhealthy codependency and Elladan's dependent personality disorder that is beginning to manifest as they grow up, as well as his destructive nature. It is something that they will need to address (partly in this story, and partly, perhaps, in later ones).
> 
> Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment!


	6. Part 2, Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS CONTENT THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SOME INDIVIDUALS. If you are unsure if this warning applies to you, please scroll to the bottom Author's Note to see the list of triggers and determine if you are comfortable reading this chapter. Thank you!

It was nearing the end of May. Elrohir struggled to hide his symptoms now and was often quiet; all his thoughts were dark and worrying, so he dared not utter them aloud.

Celebrían was traveling to Lothlorien to visit her parents. She was to be gone for three months, until the end of August.

"I will see you soon, my darling," she said, smiling. She had come to say goodbye to him during lunch, for he would be on duty in the Healing Halls when she left. He longed to touch her, and hesitantly he wrapped his arms around her. She seemed delighted, and she squeezed him tight.

"I will miss you," he said.  _Must you go?_  He had neglected her as of late, he knew; he had hardly seen her. Still, knowing that she was there if he needed her was comforting. He breathed in the scent of her perfume deeply, trying to hold it in his memory.

"I will miss you, too, Elrohir," she said. She drew back, cupping his face in her hands. "You will write to me?"

"Of course," he said. She smiled and stood on the tips of her toes to kiss his brow, and then left him.

* * *

The next day, Elrohir went down to the training fields on a whim after his shift in the Healing Halls, hoping to see the trainees from Glorfindel's group and catch up with them. He was used to seeing them six days a week, and it had been over seven weeks since he'd seen them. It felt like an eternity.

He went out to the field at the end of the training session. The trainees all greeted him merrily and asked him questions about his new job in the Healing Halls (Was there a lot of blood? Did he get to do much healing, or was he resigned to cleaning duty? Did the patients ever get annoyed when they had to be in there so long? How much of a part had he played in Caenir's care?). They told him how Glorfindel had pushed them  _so_  hard today, and they were going to go relax at the stream and swim a bit to ease their tired muscles.

"I'm going to fetch a change of clothes—I will catch up with you all!" Elladan promised. He ran inside. The others waved goodbye to Elrohir and began down the forest path.

When they were gone, it was only he and Glorfindel left on the field. Glorfindel was clearing away the last of the targets. Members of the next group were gathering at the edge of the field and would soon begin their training.

"Is there something I can help you with, Elrohir?" Glorfindel asked. Elrohir shook his head.

"No. I just came to say hello to everyone."

Glorfindel nodded and went to the supply shed to pack up the last of the arrows in their bins. On the way, he called back.

"I know I have not seen much of you as of late, but I wish you well in your new endeavor. You are not the warrior your brother is, and though few are, I am glad you have found your true calling."

Elrohir managed a smile, but Glorfindel was not looking at him. Elrohir left the field, feeling a sense of loss that encompassed his entire being.

* * *

When Elladan returned, it was nearly dinner time. Elrohir had already gone down and collected some food before the dining hall was officially open and brought the plate to his room. He was eating it when Elladan burst through his door.

"You should have been there, brother!" was the first thing he said. "It was hilarious. Gladiel pushed Rammasdir right into the water—the look on his face as he fell! And his mother came looking for him and scolded him for being soaked, and he just sputtered!"

"It sounds like you had a good time." The fire that once would've filled Elrohir's chest—insult at having not been invited along, anger that Elladan had no concept of his upset—was absent. There was just a tiredness, so deep-rooted that he could feel it in his bones as an ache.

"I did," Elladan said, grinning and going through to his room. He paused in the doorway. "Will you come down to dinner with me?"

"I've already eaten," Elrohir said.

"All right. I'll see you after, perhaps."

The door closed.

* * *

Elrohir declined so slowly that he did not even notice it at times. The return of his melancholy frightened him, and he tried his best to avoid it; he could not bear to go through the pain of isolation again. Yet steadily his good moods lessened in frequency and strength, and his periods of tiredness and sadness grew.

He thought about writing to his mother. He wished she was here. But it seemed unbearably selfish to ask her to come home just for him, so he didn't write at all.

He could tell, physically, what was happening to him. His nails, which had grown out for a while, were now bitten raw once more. The sores had reappeared inside his mouth, and he often bit on them by accident, leaving him with a mouthful of metallic blood and intense pain. He missed breakfast nearly every day, and some days, he missed a second meal as well. It seemed that no one noticed his plight.

* * *

Elrohir arrived two minutes early to the Healing Halls that Thursday. He went to a nook in the wall outside and sat there to count. He hugged his knees to his chest, the fabric of his new healing uniform white and soft in his tight grip.

_One, two, three…_

If he stayed still enough, people passed without even noticing him. It was a strange feeling to watch them go by.

_Sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two…_

Elrond passed him, his head forward and his eyes firm. Elrohir froze and Elrond did not see him.

_One-hundred eighteen…one hundred nineteen…one hundred twenty._

He uncurled himself from the spot, smoothing his uniform and taking a deep breath before he entered.

His first task was to go around and refill the water jug in each patient's room and dispose of dirty plates and utensils. He went around with a smile, greeting the now-familiar patients, many of whom were nearly ready to leave, and those who were new, learning names and faces. He did each room individually. He held the plates and utensils in one hand, each large jug in the other.

He was on his third such errand. In the main hall, he placed a plate precariously on the top of the outgoing pile, and the knife from the set toppled down. Instinctively his hand jutted out to grab it, but the blade sunk into the back of his wrist before landing with a clank on the ground.

He stared at his arm. The pain burned, and blood began to gush. From one side, he heard a gasp of alarm. He turned to find that it was Anordil by his side, and she grasped his hand and arm at either side of the wound with strong hands. He felt painfully awkward around her now, and her grasp was the emotionless touch of a healer.

"What happened?"

"I tried to grab a knife as it fell. Yes, I know it was stupid."

She shook her head and brought him to the counter where supplies were kept, applying pressure with a bandage until the bleeding slowed to an ooze. She cleaned and wrapped the wound.

All of this seemed very far away to Elrohir. He felt like he was watching the scene, as if it were some dramatic play. The pain had freed him for a moment from the confines of his body and mind.

"Elrohir?"

Her hand was waving in front of his face. Anordil's brow was furrowed with concern.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes," Elrohir said. "What were you saying?"

"I said that I think you should just observe for today—and that we should perhaps get you a sling. If you jostle that at all, it will start bleeding again."

"Oh. All right." She went to get him a sling and then slid it over his shoulder, and he tucked his arm within it. It felt bulky and unnecessary, and the feeling of the eyes on him made him sick to his stomach.

* * *

Meanwhile, Elladan was at training. He was in the middle of an archery drill when the feeling came over him. It was heavy, impossible to shake. The heat had him sweating and he was having some trouble shooting the moving targets that Glorfindel was throwing—but that still did not explain why this sense of defeat came over him. He excused himself to get a drink of water from his waterskin, and one hand lingered over his heart, as if there could be a physical cause for this strange sadness.

He went to his father afterwards to see if he had any insights.

"Adar?" he asked, knocking on his father's door. It was nearly time for dinner, and Elrond had returned to change out of his healing uniform and into something suitable for dinner. When he called for Elladan to enter, he was undoing his hair from its braid to brush it.

"I wanted your opinion on something," Elladan said. He plopped down on one of the plush chairs by the window. "The strangest thing happened today during training—I couldn't complete a task easily, and this awful feeling washed over me. It was…" He struggled with how to describe it.

"It was like my appreciation for the fun of it dimmed, and the heat and the frustration and my upset with myself—they became unbearable. It hasn't quite gone away."

"I am glad that you've come to me," Elrond said. His hair was now straight and smooth. He came forward to rest his hand on Elladan's shoulder, standing at the side of the chair.

"Though I cannot say this with certainty, I suspect that it has something to do with the speed at which your coming-of-age is approaching. Many, many things are going to change. It may simply be that you have not processed the breadth of its effects until now, and your mood has suffered with the realization. After this time of turmoil, I think it will settle."

Elladan was comforted by the analysis. Something in him whispered that it was unlikely; more than anything, he was excited for his coming-of-age, and he thrived off change. Additionally, the feeling was muted in a way that made it feel deeply unfamiliar. Still, his father was wiser than he, and if he said it was so, it was so.

* * *

Elrohir would remember June as one of the worst months of his life.

It was as if he was walking in a nightmare. He could not sleep, and lonely nights and busy days blurred together under the haze of melancholy. Each day felt like years, each small challenge suddenly insurmountable, and each moment terrible without a promise of relief. He spent every moment when he was not at training in his rooms, trying to force his ailing mind to schoolwork, but oftentimes he ended up laying in his bed, allowing the strange agony to overcome him for hours and hours as he lay there and stared at the wall. He had no energy to cry and release all the bad feeling. He barely saw his family, and though he ached for them, he did it on purpose. He knew how frightened they would be if they got a glimpse inside his head.

* * *

June came to a close. When Elrohir entered the Healing Halls that day, it felt like he was walking through a deep fog that cast a haze upon his vision. He couldn't focus on much of anything. He went through the motions, greeting patients and fluffing pillows, filling jugs and stacking plates.

His head snapped up as the door to the outside opened, and several warriors rushed in carrying Pelingail, who Elrohir recognized from Sílon's patrol, on a stretcher. Elrohir heard her moans of pain as the closest healers directed the warriors into an empty room. He rushed to help.

Within the room, there was organized chaos. Anordil was observing the wound on Pelingail's abdomen, and around her, three other healers were sterilizing equipment and gathering ingredients. Elrohir pushed his way to Anordil's side.

"What do you need?" he asked her. She didn't look up at him.

"It's poisoned—I'll need a length of bandage, and a bowl of water. Quickly now!"

He rushed to do her bidding and returned with the items. When he returned, Elrond was in the room as well, organizing as Anordil began her treatment.

"Put those things down here, Elrohir. Come now—hold it open while I clean it," Anordil said.

Elrohir came to the side of the bed and lightly held either side of the wound, seeing within both blood and black orc poison. The sight of it made him feel rather faint, but he gritted his teeth and held as she asked.

His hands were quickly growing slick with Pelingail's blood. He readjusted his grip, his hand brushing against the wound itself as he did so.

The burning of his hands was familiar, and he gasped at the feeling of it. In the heat of the moment, he had been too emotional and had not thought to calm himself. He tried to retract the magic, but it was too late.

"No—no!" He lifted his hands in dismay. The wound closed, and the skin smoothed before his eyes. Anordil looked to him, horrified. When he saw what had happened, Elrond pressed a small knife into her hands and grabbed Elrohir by the shoulder, pulling him out of the room and then out of the Halls altogether into the back hallway, where no one would see them.

"What was that?" he demanded. Elrohir shrunk under his gaze, which was angry as he had never seen it before.

"It was an a-acci—"

"Do you know what you've done? The poison is sealed in her, now, and Anordil must cut her open and get out as much as she can. You've caused her more pain and put her life in jeopardy!"

"I didn't mean to!" Elrohir cried, shying away from his father. The guilt that had already started to choke him grew worse with Elrond's words.

"I don't want to see you again today. Begone," Elrond said. Elrohir turned on his heel and ran for his room.

* * *

Elrohir did not leave his room for the rest of the day. He kept all of his doors locked, no matter how Elladan pleaded with him to come out for dinner.

His mind whirled. No one had updated him on Pelingail's condition, and his gut coiled and clenched painfully every time he thought about what had happened. What if she died? What if she died and it was his fault because he couldn't just  _get a grip and control himself?_

The thought made him lightheaded. He went to sit on a chair, feeling suddenly so dizzy that he couldn't stay on his feet. He felt like he was going to vomit. He was overtaken by heaves, but he hadn't eaten all day, and there was nothing to throw up. His stomach cramped painfully and he heaved again.

He bent with his head between his knees. He didn't know how long he stayed like that, the blood rushing to his head. When he sat up at last, the searing panic had faded, and the mist over his vision had returned. He was exhausted.

He stood and stumbled to his bed, not taking off his boots or changing clothes as he lay down. He curled up to protect his still-painful stomach, trying to close his eyes and sleep. It was impossible. He lay there, and the time passed slowly amongst his racing thoughts.

Hours passed.

His mind just wouldn't  _be quiet._  All he wanted was relief from this terrible noise—why was that so difficult?

He opened his eyes. Suddenly he remembered the sting of pain, the blessed silence that followed when the knife had fallen on his arm in the Healing Halls. He had thought of it often, but had never considered the possibility of using such a strategy to his advantage.

Slowly, he sat up. He didn't have a knife. He stepped over to the dresser, where there was an empty vase. It was beautiful, swirls of colored glass in an elegant form. No one would hear if he broke it; his father and brother were both heavy sleepers.

He pulled the vase off the dresser in a violent motion. It shattered at his feet. He crouched down by the shards, pressing against them with his hands, breaking some into smaller pieces even as they dug into his flesh with pricks of pain. He pressed harder, harder, and still the noise in his head would not go away. He could not stop, and in the darkness, he began to weep, gathering glass in his fists and crying for all the things he could not fix.

* * *

It was past midnight when Elladan woke up.

He wondered at first why he was awake.

The dreadful feeling crept up on him, as if it were locking its hands around his neck. Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

He reached to rub his eyes and found that his face was soaked with tears. He sat up, touching at his face again, baffled to find he was still crying, his shoulders shaking silently. It felt as if the world was ending, closing in on him, drowning him.

He got out of bed, shaking. He stumbled over to the door between his and Elrohir's rooms. He knew that Elrohir had had a rough day, but hopefully he was still awake, and could help Elladan through whatever was happening in his head.

He pushed the door open. The room was black. Elladan blinked, staring into the darkness.

Elrohir's bed was empty. In the corner was a huddled, shaking figure. Elladan went forward, startled by the sight of shining blood. When Elrohir turned to him, his eyes were impossibly wide, nearly glowing in the low light. His hands were drenched in blood.

The blinding pain in his heart made sudden sense.

Elladan ran for his father.

"Adar," he cried, bursting through the door between the living room and his parents' room. "Adar, something's wrong. Something's wrong with Elrohir." He shook his father's shoulders until Elrond woke, sitting up groggily.

"What's happened?" Elrond asked, his voice clogged with sleep.

"He won't—he hurt himself, he hurt himself." The words were jumbled, tripping over each other and all the other noise in his mind. Now that he understood that it was Elrohir's pain and not his own, it was immeasurably harder to deal with. Elrohir's feelings and his own thoughts mixed in a mesh of pain and worry.

Elrond was up, grabbing his healer's bag from the side of the bed.

"What  _happened_?" Elrond asked again as they rushed through the living room to Elrohir's room.

"His hands—so much blood," Elladan gasped. The sight was burned into his mind. As they came closer, Elladan could hear something, a soft noise, over and over. Little sobs, so quiet he could hardly hear them over the sound of his own footsteps. It pushed him faster.

"Elrohir," he gasped out, kneeling by his brother's side. Elrohir's hands were shifting fists, clenching and trembling, releasing and then clenching again, the glass digging into his palms more deeply with each movement.

"Elrohir, stop it!" Elladan begged, and Elrohir's gaze snapped to him. "Elrohir, stop it," he said, softer, carefully holding Elrohir's wrists. The feeling of warm blood sliding over his fingers made him nauseated. "Let us help you. Let Adar help you."

The thought of it sent a spike of fear through Elladan's heart that he recognized as Elrohir's. He tried to keep himself calm; if he could feel Elrohir's feelings so acutely, it was likely that Elrohir could feel his.

"You're going to be okay. Just let us help you. Okay?"

Finally, Elrohir's clenched, shaking fists slowly relaxed. His body, straining, went limp, and he leaned with his head on Elladan's shoulder, soft sobs still wracking his frame.

"I'm sorry," Elrohir whispered, and the sound of it broke Elladan's heart. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Come to bed, Elrohir. Come now, it's all right." Elrond's voice was soft, ever-caring, though Elladan could hear that it was shaking. Elladan wrapped his arm around his brother and helped him to his feet and over to the bed.

"The torches," Elrond said to Elladan. "I can't see." Elrond's eyesight in the dark was not as strong as his sons', who had more elvish blood than him. Reluctantly, Elladan stood. He first went to the bathroom to wash Elrohir's blood from his hands, and then he went to light the torches around the room, taking the moment away to get his bearings.

He lit the final torch, and the room was ablaze with light.

When Elladan turned back to them, Elrond was holding Elrohir's hand carefully at the wrist, pulling shards of glass from his hands with tweezers. Elrohir sat utterly still, soundless, showing no reaction to the pain. His eyes seemed far away, and he stared into the middle distance. Elladan felt his eyes burn and began to cry, both for the muted pain he could feel from Elrohir and from his own anguish at seeing his brother so bent on destroying himself.

Elrohir's gaze shot to him. Elrohir's eyes went wide, filling with tears again, and he curled in on himself. Elladan felt the part of himself that was connected with his brother begin to fade from his mind. Elrohir was closing his heart. Elladan rushed forward.

"Elrohir, please, don't do this. Don't do this."

"I will force no more pain upon you," Elrohir whispered. His voice was low, raspy. "You will not convince me otherwise."

The relief was immediate, and Elladan was astounded by the relative quiet of his own mind. He choked on a sob, though from grief or relief, he didn't know.

* * *

It was too easy for Elrond to focus on the work, the flesh on display in front of him, and to ignore that it was his son and what this meant. When he was finished with the first hand, he moved to the second, picking out pieces of colored glass with deft movements, gathering them on a pad of bandage.

When all the pieces were removed, he went to the bathroom to wash his hands and drew a basin of warm water. He returned and took the athelas from his bag, putting the leaves into the water. The aroma was sweet, and Elrond placed the basin on the bedside table by Elrohir.

"Put your hands in," Elrond said. He carefully slid Elrohir's tunic from his shoulders, unable to bear the sight of his bloody sleeves any longer. Elrohir put his hands into the water. Slowly his fingers relaxed.

Elrohir's gaze rose to Elrond. The sight of Celebrían's eyes in his son, watering and bloodshot, made Elrond feel sick.

"I'm s-sorry," Elrohir whispered. He was limp, defeated. "About earlier. I didn't mean to."

"Oh Elrohir." Elrond sighed. He dried his hands and placed one on Elrohir's cheek. "I'm sorry I got so angry with you. That's not what this is about, is it?"

"Yes. No," Elrohir said, and when he blinked, a tear trickled down his cheek and onto Elrond's hand. Elrond pulled him close, hugging his young son against his chest and holding him there. Elrohir shook against him, and though he was silent, Elrond could feel his nightshirt growing damp with Elrohir's tears.

"Everything's going to be all right, penneth. You're going to be all right."

Eventually Elrohir drew away from him. Elrond plucked his hands one at a time from the water and patted them lightly down with a towel.

"Some of these need stitches," Elrond said, observing that some of the cuts were still bleeding, though it had slowed. Elrohir sat back against the headboard with his hands in his lap, resigned, and Elrond got his things to stitch him up.

In total, of the dozens of cuts, about eight needed a couple of stitches, and one jagged line on Elrohir's right palm needed several more to close. Elrond bathed the wounds a second time and then covered them in a salve and wrapped them up in bandages.

"Those will need to be changed in the morning. I will help you with it."

Elrond stood and fetched a broom and dustpan from the hall. He swept up the shards of the vase, and the grating of glass on the stone floor made him wince. He emptied and rinsed the basin in the bathroom before returning to the bedroom and doing up the clasps on his bag.

The bloody shards of glass were still on the bandage on the bedside table. He picked the piece up carefully and discarded it in the wastebasket, overwhelmed with unusual nausea.

"Elrohir." Elrond had not noticed how silent Elladan had been to this point. He held his breath, anticipating that Elladan would be brave enough to ask the question on his mind.

"Did you—did you do this on purpose?"

Elrohir looked up at both of them and then down at his wrapped hands.

When he spoke, his voice was husky. He swallowed, visibly struggling for words.

"I couldn't stop t-thinking about earlier, and I…I wanted it to hurt."

The words hung there, as solid as any presence in the room. Elladan wrapped his arms around Elrohir from behind, holding him, and the look on Elladan's face showed his devastation, his relief that his brother was here at all.

"I am going to retire," Elrond said. He had suspected as much, but his heart felt weighted with sadness that dragged him towards the ground.

"I will see you in the morning. It will be easier to talk about these things in the light of day."

Elrohir did not lift his gaze from the sheets. Elladan had hidden his face away against the back of Elrohir's shoulder. Elrond picked up his bag and went back through the suite to his own room.

Once he was inside and the door clicked shut behind him, Elrond's hands came to cover his mouth to stop whatever sound was about to escape. He dropped his bag on the floor and wrapped his arms tightly around his own shaking shoulders.

He missed Celebrían desperately in that moment, and he wished she was there to comfort him, to hold him in her arms and wipe away his tears with her soft hands. But that is not what would happen if she was here; if she had seen her son so utterly broken it would have hurt her irreversibly. He could imagine it, though he almost wished he couldn't. She'd cry at first, and then fall silent, and sit there with a dullness to her eyes that he could do nothing to fix. She was fully elven, and such sights wounded her heart.

He went to his desk, pulling a piece of parchment and a quill. He sat down and started to write, but his hands were shaking too much. He rested his head in his hands and felt tears falling again, burning, until at last he came to a state of numb calmness. He would go to Glorfindel and Erestor in the morning, when he wasn't quite so distraught and could look at the situation with a level head. He trusted them absolutely.

His hand was steadier as he wrote.

_My dearest Celebrían,_

_I write to you with utmost urgency. I cannot detail what has happened here for fear that this letter might be intercepted or read by someone other than you, but something dire has happened. Please return as soon as you can. Elrohir needs you._

_Yours always,_

_Elrond_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: This chapter contains descriptions of (both unintentional and intentional) self-harm. A summary of the chapter is provided below for readers who do not wish to read this content so that they may read future chapters without confusion.
> 
> Summary: Celebrían leaves for Lothlorien at the end of May, planning to stay there for three months. Elrohir visits his old training group, and they do not invite him along when they go to relax near the river. Elladan tells him all about it afterwards, and Elrohir does not feel angry but tired in his upset at having not been invited. Elrohir notices and fears his own decline back into depression and anxious habits. He is working in the Healing Halls when a knife accidently falls on his hand, and it brings great relief and quietness to his troubled mind. At the same time, Elladan feels a swell of depression. Elladan goes to Elrond to ask about it, but Elrond assures him that it's likely the result of the changes going on in Elladan's life. During the month of June, Elrohir falls into deep depression. At the beginning of July, Pelingail (one of the warriors from Sílon's patrol) is brought to the Healing Halls in dire condition. While he is helping Anordil try to extract the poison from Pelingail's wound, Elrohir forgets to hold back his healing magic, and accidentally seals up the wound, making the situation worse. Elrond is angry with him for his mistake. Elrohir retreats to his rooms and that night hurts himself by braking a vase and pressing the shards into his hands, desperate for release. Elladan wakes up crying and goes to Elrohir, finding this scene. Elladan calls for Elrond, who works on healing Elrohir's hands. Elladan realizes that his depression is Elrohir's, and Elrohir cuts their bond off to spare Elladan the pain. Elrohir admits that he hurt himself on purpose. Elrond goes back to his own room and writes to Celebrían, asking her to return as quickly as she can from Lothlorien.
> 
> That's the end of Part 2. Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment.


	7. Part 3, Chapter 1

Part 3

_"As the old saying goes,_

_'sometimes loving someone_

_means letting them go.'_

_Bullshit!_...

_Love means holding on to_

_Someone just as hard as_

_You can because if you_

_Don't, one blink and they might disappear_

_Forever."_

Ellen Hopkins,  _Impulse_

Chapter 1

Elrohir woke to pain in his hands.

Elladan was still beside him in the bed. It was an odd feeling; they had not slept next to one another like this since they were very young. Elladan's heavy arm was over Elrohir's chest. Elrohir sighed softly. The poor night's sleep had left him with a headache, and the nagging pain in his head and hands kept him awake.

Gradually, he shifted out of Elladan's grip and sat up. Elladan shifted, murmuring something but not waking.

Elrohir was thirsty, but pouring himself a glass of water with his hands so heavily bandaged proved to be an impossible task. He gritted his teeth in frustration, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and getting up to pace.

It was a fruitless use of his energy, and there was little of it. He worried at one of the sores on the inside of his lip. Pain burst in his mouth, accompanied by a gush of blood, salty and metallic. He went to the sink and spit out the blood. It seemed to laugh at him from the basin, for it was impossible for him to rinse his mouth. He held a towel to his lip until the bleeding stopped, but it still tasted awful.

The door from the living room opened, and Elrond stepped in.

"Elrohir?" he called. His eyes were wide. Elrohir stepped out of the bathroom, still holding the bloodied towel to his face.

"What happened?" Elrond asked, looking rather alarmed and stepping forward. Elrohir shook his head and stepped back.

"Did your hands start bleeding?"

"No. I bit the inside of my mouth and I could not rinse it." After another moment Elrohir put the towel to soak in cold water.

"I have something that can help that."

Elrohir went to sit on the bed, keeping his head down. Elladan slumbered on. Elrohir offered up his hands, and Elrond unwrapped the bandages and began to clean the wounds.

"Your brother is very concerned for you," Elrond finally said.  _Aren't you?_  Elrohir wanted to say, but he didn't. Instead he sat in silence, trying to hide how much the words pained him.

"How long has this been going on?"

_Please don't ask me about this._

"I don't know. I don't know. It stopped for a while, but—it came back. It came back worse."

Elrond was silent. He applied the ointment—Elrohir recognized it by scent and texture as athelas paste. Once his hands were wrapped up again, Elrond looked to Elrohir's mouth.

"You bit the inside of your lip?" he asked. Elrohir nodded, suddenly wishing that he hadn't mentioned it. Elrond pulled lightly on his lower lip, and though his face did not change, something in his eyes darkened at the sight of the sores there. He got some pale ointment that Elrohir did not recognize on his finger and dabbed it lightly on each sore. He pulled on Elrohir's top lip, and Elrohir felt shame filling him slowly as two more, smaller, were revealed there. Elrond carefully applied the ointment and then released him.

"When did these form?"

"I don't know. A couple are new, but I have them all the time."  _Am I not supposed to?_

Elrond's eyes drifted to Elrohir's hands; the tips of his fingers were barely visible the way Elrond had wrapped them.

"Am I—" Elrohir paused, unsure of what he wanted to ask.

"Am I…okay?"

"That is not for me to decide," Elrond said. He rested a hand lightly on Elrohir's cheek, touching him reverently, as if he was bound to break under the pressure of an ordinary touch.

Elrohir swallowed thickly.

"Do I  _look_  okay?"

"No," Elrond said.

"I don't…f-feel okay," he admitted. Behind him, Elladan was finally stirring.

"I cannot help you if I do not know what troubles you," Elrond said.

"I don't know," Elrohir said. He hated how choked his voice sounded. "Believe me, I would gladly tell you if I knew." Elrond sighed.

"I've written to your mother, and she should be back within the month," Elrond said. He kissed Elrohir's forehead.

"I have to go to the Healing Halls," Elrond said. "But I will come to see you during lunch hour. Try not to strain yourself."

"Okay."

Elrond lingered in the doorway for a long moment. He looked exhausted.

When Elrond was gone, Elladan shifted, placing a hand lightly on Elrohir's arm. His eyes were still closed.

"Sleep some more," Elladan said, voice deepened from sleep. Elrohir drew his arm back sharply, sliding from the bed.

"I don't want to sleep anymore," he said, suddenly combative. He went to the window and looked out. It was nearly time for breakfast; he had missed the morning field session. He supposed he couldn't have participated. After breakfast would be lessons; he ought to go to them. It would be something to do. He couldn't bear the thought of sitting around in his room all day.

"Do you want breakfast?" Elladan asked. He sat up, yawning, his hair mussed.

"I don't want to go to the dining hall," Elrohir said.

"I can bring something up."

"I don't know what I can eat when I can't hold a spoon."

"I'll find something." Elladan got up from the bed and stretched his whole body, reaching upwards and shaking the sleep from himself with a start. He went to the door between their rooms and paused.

"You'll be okay on your own?"

"I'm not a child."

Elladan balked, pausing and looking at Elrohir for a long moment. Elrohir did not have the nerve to look him in the eye for long, and his gaze fell to the floor.

Elladan went through to his room, and Elrohir heard him dress and close the door behind him when he left for the dining hall.

Elrohir went through the living room and onto the balcony. The smell of rain was heavy in the air, and he shivered. He was still shirtless from last night. He wasn't sure why he had come outside.

As if it saw him standing there, the rain began a steady drizzle.

Over a few minutes, the pace increased until the rain was torrential. It was freezing, each drop like a tiny needle pressing and breaking through his skin. He began to shiver violently, and he braced his arms on the railing. It was cruelly cold. Being covered in rain made him wish that he could cry, but the tears that burned in his eyes would not fall.

Time slowed in the roar of rain. It was heavy on his shoulders, pressing him down towards the earth. It took all his strength to stand, not crumple to his knees under the onslaught.

The door behind him opened and Elrohir flinched. There was a hand on his arm, holding onto him even as he tried to pull away.

"Elrohir!" Elladan cried. His dark hair was sodden, and it made his whole face look pale and long.

"Please let me go," Elrohir whispered. It was impossible for Elladan to hear him over the rain, but he couldn't muster the energy to speak any louder. "Please let me go."

Elladan grabbed him firmly by the shoulders and pulled him inside.

It was suddenly quiet. The rain was much softer with the door closed, and he could hear the water dripping from his hair. It slid over his skin like icy fingertips.

"What were you doing out there? You're shivering!" Elladan was shaking too. Elrohir couldn't tell if it was because he was cold or afraid. Elrohir stood there, paralyzed under the weight of his thoughts and Elladan's worry.

"Elrohir," Elladan whispered. He gripped the back of Elrohir's neck, pressing their foreheads together. "Oh, Elrohir. Whatever this pain that plagues you, I would take it from you in a moment if I could."

Elrohir wanted to latch onto his brother, let himself be held. Yet something chained him there, still and despondent, shaking from the cold.

"Let's get changed. Okay?" Elladan went and got Elrohir a tunic and trousers, guiding him to the bathroom.

"Dry yourself off and change. I'll be back in a minute, okay? I am next door if you need me."

Elrohir managed to wrestle his trousers off and dress, slinging a towel around his shoulders to collect the water from his weeping hair. His bandages were soaked, but he couldn't get them off on his own. He couldn't button up his tunic, either, so he left it open.

Stepping back into his bedroom, he found that Elladan was changed and back already. There was a tray of food that he had brought up: two apples and two cups of oatmeal, sprinkled with cinnamon.

"We should call Adar to replace your bandages," Elladan said. Elrohir shook his head.

"Please don't," he said softly. "There are bandages in the cupboard—I can walk you through how to tie them." He couldn't bear the thought of Elrond back so soon, and he didn't want to explain why his bandages were soaked through.

"All right." Elladan did as he was asked, and as he cut the bandages away and replaced them with dry ones, Elrohir watched his face. Even when he smiled, there was a little crease between his brows. He was worried.

When he was done, they sat to eat together. Elrohir took an apple and held it with both hands, finding that even though it was impossible to curl one hand around its shape, he could hold it between his palms with no trouble. It was sweet. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten anything substantial.

"We're going to be late for lessons," Elrohir said dully.

"You want to go?"

"Yes."

He couldn't write anything, but he hoped that Erestor would be giving a lesson and he could just listen.

"I will have to make sure I take good notes to keep up to your standard," Elladan said, a teasing smile on his face. His eyes were still saturated with concern. Elrohir wished he could manage a smile, but he couldn't, so he took another bite out of his apple.

When he was finished with the apple, he took the cup of oatmeal and tipped it to drink it as if it were some strange beverage. It was thick and cold, but it filled him; the growling of his stomach faded. He sighed softly. He took his water glass in both hands and took a sip of it to wash down the breakfast.

"We should go," he said.

"Let me brush your hair first," Elladan said. He came behind Elrohir and took the towel out from under his shoulders, taking a brush from the dresser and carefully working through the knots. Elrohir hadn't brushed his hair in a long time. Elladan sorted through each tangle before he was satisfied, and Elrohir's head felt lighter with a brush running easily through his hair.

Elladan cleared up the tray and opened the door to leave it outside for the cleaning staff to pick up. As Elrohir was going out the door, Elladan stood in front of him for a moment to button up his tunic. Elrohir felt put-together and much more presentable than he had in the past couple of weeks.  _Thank you,_  he thought as he watched Elladan walk in front of him, but he did not say it.

* * *

Immediately after he had gone to Elrohir, Elrond went to his office and summoned Glorfindel and Erestor. When they entered, Glorfindel had obviously said something humorous, as he was laughing boisterously and even Erestor could not resist the barest hint of a smile. Elrond wished he didn't have to be the bearer of ill tidings.

"Sit down, please," he said. They did so. The seriousness of his tone subdued them somewhat.

"You look troubled, Elrond," Glorfindel said. Erestor was looking Elrond over critically, and Elrond saw how his eyes lingered on his rumpled clothing, disheveled hair, and bloodshot eyes. He had been unable to sleep, both for his anguish and for the fear that Elrohir would hurt himself again. He had sat near the door, listening for any noise at all from Elrohir's room, but there was none.

"I…something happened last night," Elrond said. "Elrohir—Elrohir hurt himself."

"What happened?" Erestor asked. His brows were furrowed. Elrond felt his heart clench.

"He hurt  _himself_ , Erestor. He hurt himself on purpose."

Erestor's eyes went wide, and his hand shot out from his robe to grab at the edge of Elrond's desk as if he were in danger of toppling over. Glorfindel's hand went to rest on Erestor's knee, but Erestor did not look to him, his eyes locked on Elrond.

"What? How— _why_ would he do such a thing?"

"He had made a mistake during training—a dire one, I'll admit, the details of which I expect he would prefer I not share. He was upset afterwards, but…but I do not think that is all. There must be something more. He has never done anything like this in the face of shame before."

"Is he all right?" Glorfindel asked. His face was solemn, and Elrond saw him as suddenly weary. He looked old.

"I don't know. He broke a vase and—"  _Oh, Valar._  The image seared Elrond's mind again, and he was suddenly in unimaginable pain. It took a long moment before it subsided. "And he was pressing his hands into the shards. He is lucky he didn't cut off a finger."

Erestor's grip on Elrond's desk tightened.

"What are we going to do?"

"We must watch over him at all times," Elrond said. "I fear he may do something like this again. He was—" The sight of Elrohir's eyes, so wide and so terrified, appeared then in Elrond's mind. "He was broken. Something has caused him terrible pain, and he cannot articulate what it is. I talked to him this morning."

"Elladan is with him now?" Glorfindel asked. Elrond nodded.

"We will go to breakfast, then," Glorfindel said. Elrond shook his head. He had no appetite.

"I will not let you neglect yourself over this—either of you," Glorfindel said, looking pointedly to the shell-shocked Erestor. "Get up and we will go to breakfast. Elrohir needs us at our best."

* * *

Elladan and Elrohir went to their lesson. Erestor was noticeably subdued. When it was over, they returned to their rooms for lunch.

Elrond came to see Elrohir at lunchtime. Elladan had fetched lunch for the two of them, pears and soup that Elrohir could drink out of the bowl. Elrond came with his plates and they all sat in the living room to eat.

Elrond lifted his head from his food after a few moments.

"Elrohir…I wish to talk with you about what happened last night."

Elrohir didn't look up from his soup.

"Do you feel comfortable talking about it?" Elladan asked. Elrohir's eyes snapped to him; he was not usually so perceptive. Elrohir shook his head silently.

"Would yes or no questions be better?" Elladan asked. Elrohir nodded. He flushed. Elladan looked to Elrond with a look that said he should let this guideline control the conversation.

"Have you ever hurt yourself on purpose before?" Elrond asked. Elrohir shook his head.  _No._

"Do you think that you'll be tempted to do so again?" It took him a minute to think about it. He swallowed thickly.

_Yes._

"Do you know what caused such thoughts?"

_No._

"Do you think that they will go away on their own?"

_No._

"Do you want help?"

Elrohir bit his lip, worrying at a sore. He forced himself to stop when he saw Elrond frown. Elrohir's brow furrowed, and finally he answered with a nod.

_Yes._

"I want to ask one that is not yes or no—you do not have to answer if you feel you cannot," Elrond told him. "Do you know when the thoughts of hurting yourself started?"

"I—" Elrohir stopped. It was a complicated question. "Well, when I—you remember I hurt my arm, before—that was an accident. When that happened, it just felt so much b-better. Just for a moment."

"What felt better?"

"It was quieter. Calmer."

Elrond did not seem to understand what he meant. Elrohir struggled for the words to explain it, but found nothing.

"I think, perhaps, once your hands are healed enough…you could try writing letters. That would give you time to think about what you want to say—I get the impression that it is difficult for you to talk about this," Elrond said. "If we read the letters, we can talk to you about them and perhaps figure out what it is that troubles you, without having to have conversations that upset you."

The thought made tears of relief well up in his eyes. Elrohir nodded.

"Thank you," he whispered. "How long will it be before I can write?"

"A few days. As long as you don't overdo it, perhaps four."

Elrohir sipped at his soup, and at last there was a shred of hope in his heart.

* * *

Elrohir went about his business in the days after that. Keeping busy kept him from thinking too hard. He was never left alone.

He went to lessons and dictated a paper to Elladan, who seemed quite impressed with it and wrote it out for him gladly. He went to the Healing Halls to observe every day, but did not go to field trainings, where he knew he could not participate until he was fully well.

He went to Pelingail to apologize profusely for his mistake. She was expected to make a full recovery.

He was watching another healer demonstrate how to make a particular poultice when he heard voices behind him.

"What happened to his hands?" he heard Anordil asking Elrond.

"An accident," Elrond said coolly. Anordil gave him a look demanding more information, and Elrond shook his head.

"Don't ask him about it," he said. Anordil didn't look pleased, but she bowed her head in submission.

* * *

Elladan spent very little time without Elrohir, now. He left him only when he had to go to training, and he knew that Elrohir in the Healing Halls was under Elrond's watchful eye.

Training had just ended, and Elladan wiped his forehead with a towel. He was drenched in sweat, and the towel did little to help. He smelled terrible. The day had been grueling.

Anordil was waiting for him at the edge of the training field. She motioned for him to come over. He looked around to see if she could be motioning for Caenir, but he was on the other side of the field, and Anordil was looking straight at him.

"What is it?" he asked, making his way over to her. She looked worried. Panic rushed through him and he thought suddenly that something must've happened to Elrohir. He walked faster.

"Is Elrohir all right?" he asked, breathless.

"You tell me," she said. She seemed to take pity on him, though, and she sighed. "Nothing happened today. Calm down."

He tried to take a deep breath.

"He hurt himself. Didn't he?" Anordil's voice was soft.

"He did." He wasn't sure what made him so open with Anordil; perhaps it was that he knew she cared so much for Elrohir. He felt a pang of guilt.

"I know…I know that things are strained between the two of you now," Elladan said. "And that is my fault. I put him up to cutting you off. I was jealous." Her face hardened. "But I regret that. I would have you reconnect, but…I don't think he would be comfortable with that right now. He is so vulnerable. He needs time." He hoped that time was all that Elrohir needed.

"If you want I could—I could tell you when it is a good time. Or a better time, at least. I'm sorry."

Anordil seemed reluctant. He watched the emotions play upon her face. Anger, to guilt, to grief.

"All right," she said. "All right. I will wait."


	8. Part 3, Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MATERIAL THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SOME INDIVIDUALS. If you are unsure if this warning applies to you, please scroll to the bottom Author’s Note to see the list of triggers and determine if you are comfortable reading this chapter. Thank you!

Chapter 2

Elrohir’s hands were already healing. They were itchy now that they had scabbed. When his stitches were removed, the bandages were much thinner, and he was finally allowed to write. The thought thrilled him, but when he sat down at his desk with a paper and pen, he found it difficult to start.

_~~Dear Adar~~ _

_~~Dear Glorfindel~~ _

_~~Dear Erestor~~ _

None of them fit. He eventually gave up on a greeting and simply started a paragraph.

_~~I do not know~~ _

_~~I wish that I could~~ _

_~~I know that you worry for me~~ _

_~~I wish that I was~~ _

Nothing was right!

He took a deep breath. He had all the time in the world if he wanted it, did he not? There was no need to rush things.

He finally thought of a place to start after several minutes of staring at the blank page.

 _What felt better?_ Elrond had asked him when he had told him about where the temptation to hurt himself was born.

_When you asked me what felt better when I was first hurt, I couldn’t think of how to describe it. I think I can do it now._

_The day when I was hurt in the Healing Halls, it seemed like I couldn’t focus on anything. All the thoughts that I could hold onto were negative. I kept thinking about how it was stupid that I was not happier. I had thought that my frustration with training was the only thing that was bothering me, but the bad feeling persisted, even when I was doing something I loved. I hated myself for being so impossible to please. I kept thinking that I wasn’t improving at healing as fast as I wanted, and I was afraid I would lose the passion for it. All of this was going through my head, and then the knife hit me and it hurt. My head was quiet for the first time in days. I liked how quiet it was. So later, after everything with Pelingail, I was having so many bad thoughts, and I felt like they were killing me and I just wanted quiet. It didn’t work as well that time though._

It was a messy train of thought. He gave the letter (though was it a letter if it was just a couple of paragraphs on a page?) to Elrond as he entered the Healing Halls the next day.

“Thank you,” Elrond said. He folded the letter without reading it and put it away in his pocket to look at later. “May I show it to your brother and Glorfindel and Erestor as well?”

Something about the thought of Elladan seeing the letter made Elrohir want to hide.

“I—I would prefer if Elladan didn’t read it,” he said softly. “But Glorfindel and Erestor may.”

Elrond frowned, but nodded. Elrohir went past him into the Healing Halls without another word.

* * *

 

Elrohir went to bed early that night. Elrond took the opportunity to speak to Elladan.

“Will you come with me to the living room for a moment?” Elrond asked. Elladan was preparing for bed. He was to sleep in Elrohir’s room until they were sure that Elrohir would not try and hurt himself again.

“Will he be all right on his own?” Elladan looked to Elrohir’s sleeping form.

“We can keep the door open. I doubt he will wake.”

Elladan came reluctantly. He sat next to Elrond on the couch.

“Are you all right?” Elrond asked him.

“Me?” Elladan laughed a little. “It is not me you need to worry about.”

“If I had seen my brother like this, it would’ve upset me deeply,” Elrond said. Elladan’s face hardened.

“Of course I am upset. But the only thing that needs to be done to cure that is for him to get better. That is where you ought to focus your concern.”

“I do not mean to make you angry, Elladan,” Elrond said.

“I know.” Elladan took a long breath and he slowly calmed.

“Did he write a letter yet?”

“He did.”

“Have you read it?” Elladan held his hand out, and Elrond realized he was asking for the letter. “What does it say?”

“I—he gave it to me in confidence, Elladan. I cannot give it to you. He only gave permission for Glorfindel, Erestor, and me to read it. I’m sorry.”

Elladan’s eyes narrowed in confusion, and he drew his hand back. A cloud of anger went over his face before he managed to calm himself down again.

“Oh. All right.”

“The best you can do for him is be there for him, and make sure he is not left alone,” Elrond said. He put a hand on Elladan’s shoulder. “He needs time.”

“I know.” Elrond could tell that Elladan was hurt, but he could only hope it would fade. Elrond did not know why Elrohir did not want Elladan to read his letters, but he had to respect his son’s wish.

“I am going to go to bed,” Elladan said. He was subdued. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Adar.”

“Good night.” Elrond watched Elladan retreat to Elrohir’s room and close the door behind him.

* * *

 

They wrote him back with a question after each letter. This continued in a cycle for several days, and when he was not at lessons or training, Elrohir wrote his replies.

_What about your original training was frustrating for you?_

_I wanted to be good at it. I suppose I was all right. But I wanted to be excellent, and Elladan seemed to get everything so easily. I wanted to be as good as him. I wanted to be better than him. It was so hard, and I was not good at it._

_Had you started to have the negative thoughts you mentioned in the first letter before you switched to healing training?_

_I’ve always had them. It’s not always thoughts; it’s a feeling. Or, rather, it’s a dampening of good feeling, and a growth of the bad ones. I can’t remember when I wasn’t like this. Maybe when I was very young. It wasn’t as bad before. It’s the worst it’s ever been now._

_Are there things that make you feel anxious during the day?_

_EVERYTHING makes me feel anxious during the day. Is that not supposed to happen? I thought I was just like that. I always get everywhere two minutes early, and then I sit outside and count the seconds until I’m on time and then I go in because I don’t want to be early and have everyone look at me, but I don’t want to risk being late because then they would also look at me. I don’t want to go down to the dining halls because having eyes on me makes me nervous. And I don’t like talking to new people. I fear that they’ll look at me and see me as pathetic. And when I talk to people I worry that they think they’re talking to Elladan and that they’ll be disappointed when they find out it’s me. Most of the time I just want to stay in my room because there are too many things out there that worry me, and I can’t deal with it all the time. It’s like all these bad thoughts and anxiety combine ~~and I~~_

_The day after I hurt myself, it started raining when I was on the balcony. Even though I was getting cold, I couldn’t get myself to go inside. Even though one raindrop wouldn’t have hurt, all of them hitting me so hard at once hurt so bad and made me feel like I was going to fall. That’s the only metaphor I can think of to describe it. It’s not one thing. It’s so many things at the same time and they work together to wear me out and make me feel small and weak and like I’m going to fall down._

_~~I thought~~_

_I knew that Elladan wasn’t like that, but I’ve always been like that. I thought it was okay. Is it not okay?_

_Am I okay?_

* * *

 

The last letter shook Glorfindel to his core. They had exchanged letters and questions for eleven days. None had affected him as greatly as this. He held the paper in his hands, read it over again, trying to process all the things that were going on within the ink on the page.

_You’re not okay, penneth._

He gave it to Erestor to read, and then sat heavily in the chair in front of Elrond’s desk. They had had several of these impromptu meetings, reading each letter and then talking about what question they should ask Elrohir when they wrote back to him. As Glorfindel looked at his hand. It was shaking. He stretched his fingers to look at them in fascination. Elrond saw it too. He said nothing, waiting for Erestor to finish reading.

“He’s not okay,” Erestor said when he was done, and he placed the letter carefully on the desk.

“He sounds like me,” Glorfindel said dully. The revelation was strange and startling. “He sounds _exactly_ like me when I first met you. Do you not think so?”

“You had similar fears, as if the world was your enemy. But what I cannot understand is _why_ this has afflicted him,” Erestor said. “You had been reborn an age after your death with half of your memories missing, and you had many reasons to be anxious. But Elrohir…he is still so young, and he has not undergone any major trials.”

“He reminds me of myself, as well,” Elrond said. “When I was young. The rain. I know that feeling.”

“It again raises the question of a source, though,” Erestor said. “The turmoil early in your life could explain those feelings of hopelessness and despair.”

They sat in silence for a moment, each pondering on his own. Finally Elrond spoke.

“I think we should talk to him,” Elrond said softly. “And tell him of our own experiences. It could help him, even if we do not know where his troubles originated.” He was looking at Glorfindel. Glorfindel nodded, and they were decided.

* * *

 

Elladan had gone to dinner in the dining hall, and thus Elrond sat with Elrohir as he ate his dinner.

Elrohir knew he wasn’t going to like the conversation that followed when Glorfindel and Erestor joined them about halfway through. They greeted him and sat in chairs around the room.

“We wished to speak with you,” Elrond said. Elrohir was shaking, the anxiety that had led up to that moment gathering to a terrible, sharp pain in his chest. He looked to the doors, one to the outside, one to Elladan’s room, and one to the living room, and tried to see which was closest, but all of them were blocked by the three of them surrounding him. There was nowhere to go, and even if there was, Glorfindel was faster than he was.

“I don’t. I don’t want to talk about this. I c-can’t talk about t-this.”

Elrohir’s bandaged hand came to rest over his chest, where the pain was, and he could hear the beating of his heart, loud and fast.

_Thump, thump, thump._

Glorfindel was coming towards him.

_Thump thump thump._

He was kneeling by him.

_Thump-thump-thump._

His mouth was moving, but Elrohir could not hear him over the sound of his heart.

_Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump—_

“Elrohir!” Glorfindel’s voice cut through the noise, clear and smooth. As Elrohir looked up at him, his hair was a golden halo about his head. “Elrohir, calm down. Breathe, penneth. We are not here to interrogate you.”

He was suddenly aware that his breathing was strained, fast and hissing through his teeth, as if he could not get enough air. He let out a strangled gasp, forcing his breathing deeper, and slowly he got it under control. The haze over his vision cleared. His heart slowed to normal. There were tears on his cheeks.

He felt exhausted from the strain of his panic. He leaned back in his chair, and Glorfindel stood and returned to his seat.

“We did not come to make you answer anything that you do not wish to answer,” Elrond assured him. He looked shaken, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. “We—well, I, firstly, wanted to tell you about an experience that I had in my youth that I think may be helpful to you.”

Elrohir lifted his head to look to Elrond.

“When I was young, as you know, I was taken in by Maglor. When that happened, my brother and I…well, Elros adjusted quite well, all things considered. I had more trouble.”

Elrond’s hands shifted.

“As I grew up, I went through anger and misery in a cycle that seemed unbreakable. Even when I felt settled, I felt as if I were not integrated properly into my family, and I hated that Elros seemed at home and I did not feel that way. Despite my love for all of them, I was long grown before I found happiness in my life.”

Elrohir felt his throat swell.

“I do not want that to be the case for you. Does that sound something like what you feel?”

Elrohir nodded. The thought that his father had been through something similar was unfathomable to him. He had felt so alone.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” he whispered. His voice was hoarse.

“I did not know if it could be the same. I had those feelings because of trauma when I was very young. I could not think of anything that has happened that would give you such feelings.”

As fast as he had felt gladdened by Elrond’s admittance, the small flame of hope was extinguished. His heart clenched.

“And I had a similar experience to yours with anxious thoughts when I was first reborn,” Glorfindel said. “Your father and Erestor helped me. I hope that you know that any of the three of us are here—your father and I with our experience, and Erestor with his wise counsel—if you should need someone to talk to.”

It was ironic that Glorfindel, who Elrohir had always looked to as the epitome of self-confidence, had once suffered the same plight as he did. Yet it did not make him feel better.

Elrohir nodded. They all looked so kind and earnest, and it hurt him to think of how they saw him now. Some combination of their most terrible feelings, when he had not undergone their trials. He stood up.

“I’m going to bed,” he said softly. “Though your counsel has eased my mind, I hope to go to the field session tomorrow, and thus I must retire early. If I do not see you tomorrow, I will see you at training the day after, Adar.” Elrond was to be out for the day tomorrow on a short expedition.

They nodded and stood with him. Glorfindel and Elrond filed out, and as soon as they were gone, Elrohir took the few steps to his bed and lay upon it. Elrond was still there, watching over him, but he did not say anything. He did not cry, but lay there it utter stillness. The darkness smothered him.

* * *

 

Elladan, meanwhile, was with Rammasdir, a member of his training group and his close friend. They had started to talk over dinner, and when they were done eating they had moved out into the adjacent garden, sitting under the lanterns as the sun set and the world darkened.

Rammasdir was quiet and intensely practical, but he was not heartless; he seemed to fit into anyone’s shoes with ease, drifting from perspective to perspective like a ghost and hearing all sides of a situation before he formed an opinion. His big heart made him immensely perceptive. He was a peacemaker, and Elladan came to him when he was upset and wanted to level his head. They had a long conversation about training, Caenir’s return to their group, and other things.

“How is your brother?” Rammasdir asked once there was a lull in the conversation. “My sister, Nindie, is in his group for field training, and she says he’s missed several sessions.”

Elladan sighed. He wasn’t sure how much about Elrohir’s condition was public knowledge, and he did not want to violate his brother’s trust.

“He’s been…injured,” Elladan said. “There was an accident and his hands were cut pretty badly. He’s recovering, but he’s not well enough to go out to field training.”

“You worry for him.” It was not a question.

“I do. It’s impacted him more than I expected it to,” Elladan said. He struggled with how to describe the situation without giving too much away. “He’s become quite sullen lately, and he does not take proper care of himself. I worry for him, of course, and yet I must admit with shame that it also seems like a terrible burden sometimes, to take care of him. I have to bring him meals and watch him when I could be doing something more interesting.”

“Is his company not interesting?”

“It used to be. He used to smile more easily, and though he was always reserved, he’s become…more so. He won’t tell me how he’s feeling. He was so quick-witted, and he used to make me laugh more than anyone…now it is as if he is a shell of who he once was.”

Rammasdir considered this for a moment. Elladan knew he had never known Elrohir particularly well—no one in the training group did, for he had always been so quiet and serious when they trained—but they had had a sort of kinship in that they were the quiet ones. When Elladan did not ask either of them to be his sparring partner, they chose one another.

“I would think that it would improve with time,” Rammasdir said. “When he returns to himself, he’ll be glad that you were there to support him.”

Elladan thought about this.

“I do not know…if he will return to himself. We used to be bound to one another mentally, but he has cut himself off from me, and I do not know what’s going on with him anymore. I fear he never really wanted to reconnect in the first place,” he admitted. He was generally optimistic, but the way the younger twin acted made him fear that whatever malady was in Elrohir’s mind had consumed him altogether, and that when it left, the Elrohir he had known would be gone. The thought scared him more than anything.

“And my father, and Erestor, and Glorfindel—remember how Glorfindel left training early yesterday? That was to go because my father had called for his counsel. They’ve had Elrohir start writing these letters about how he’s feeling, and they all go to read them in Adar’s office together. They devote such time and attention to him, and he still snaps, lashes out at me, acts so sullen as if he’s going to die. And he won’t even let me read the letters! He is my brother!”

He realized too late that he had given away too much. Luckily, Rammasdir was not one to pry.

“I hope I can count on your discretion with these matters,” Elladan said. He stood, eager to leave before he revealed any more. “I think I will go to bed. These trials will seem less troubling after a night’s rest.” It was a line his father often used, but it felt hollow on Elladan’s lips. Before Rammasdir could reply, Elladan left the garden, bound for Elrohir’s rooms.

* * *

 

_“I’ll do it,” Elrohir threatened. Elladan watched him from the door. Terror raced through his heart. It was pouring rain, and Elladan could hardly hear his brother over the noise._

_“Elrohir, get down. Please! Please. We can figure this out,” he begged. Elrohir’s perch on the balcony railing was precarious and growing more slippery by the moment. If he fell over the edge, it would be to his death._

_That was what he wanted._

_“Elrohir, please. Please. I swear I’ll do anything just—please, please don’t do this.”_

_Elrohir smiled. There was a wicked glint in his eye. He leaned back and closed his eyes._

“NO!” Elladan sat bolt upright. The image of Elrohir falling, no, _casting_ himself from the balcony was seared in his mind, and no matter how he tried, it replayed itself over and over.

“Elrohir,” he gasped out. He was already in Elrohir’s bed—he still could not be left alone. As he looked down beside him and saw Elrohir’s still form on the bed, his heart lurched. He leaned over him.

“Elrohir!” he hissed. Elrohir did not open his eyes, but Elladan saw his chest rise and fall with each breath.

 _He is only asleep,_ Elladan thought, though it sounded strangely like his father’s voice in his head. He swallowed thickly and the panic abated, leaving him shaky. _He is only asleep, Elladan. He’s all right._

Elladan took a long breath. He lay back down, reaching over Elrohir to hold him close, and to feel his chest rise and fall. Elrohir did not stir.

_He’s all right._

* * *

 

When Elrohir woke the next morning, Elladan was lying beside him. He did not know when in the night his twin had joined him, but he was close, warm, one arm slung easily over him. Elrohir glanced out the window. The sun had already risen. That meant Elrond had left for his trip, and the morning field session was definitely over already. Oops.

Elrohir wriggled out from under Elladan and sat up. As he had over the last few days, he cared for his hands and sat at the window, listening to the soft noises of the outside. Birds chirped, the leaves on the trees rustled, and in the distance, there was always the soft crashing of moving water. It was a moment of quiet solitude, which he was granted so rarely now. He valued it immensely at the beginning of the day.

“Good morning,” Elladan said from behind him. Elrohir did not answer. Elladan sounded a little testy, as if he had not slept particularly well. He expected Elladan to leave to go dress, but he could hear his breathing as he sat on the bed still.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Elrohir tensed slightly. He did not turn to Elladan, trying for a moment to pretend he wasn’t there.

“Look at me!” Elladan’s voice was suddenly angry, and Elrohir turned to him, eyes wide. Elladan stood.

“What?” Elrohir’s voice sounded tired, even to his own ears, and he sighed softly. It had been a _long_ night. He had struggled to fall asleep under the weight of his conversation with Glorfindel, Elrond, and Erestor. When he had slept, it had been fitfully—he had lost count of how many times he had woken.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Elladan said again. His chest heaved in a sigh, and Elrohir could tell he was trying to calm down. Knowing that Elladan had to work not to be angry made Elrohir angry; Elladan had no reason to be angry with him!

“I heard.” He straightened in his chair. “I don’t want to talk to you at this exact moment, so I did not turn around.”

“I am done waiting for you to call upon me. I have tried to offer you my support, but you give me nothing to work with. I cannot read your mind.” Elrohir could tell that Elladan was getting angrier, and for some reason it filled him with a twisted satisfaction. Let him feel some pain for once.

“I do not owe you an explanation for anything. And if you do not respect me enough to choose a time and place where I am comfortable for a conversation like this—well, that speaks to your character, not mine.”

Elladan was fuming now, and he stepped forward. Elrohir stood up to be level with him.

“I have tried _endlessly_ to be there for you! I sacrifice my time and my friends and my _life_ to be here with you all miserable!”

“It’s not about you!” Elrohir yelled, and he was filled with sudden, blinding fury. “I am not a burden to be borne! You have no idea how much I wish you did not have to sacrifice for me. I wish I could just be _happy_ like you but it’s _not that easy for me!”_   _Don’t cry. Don’t cry._

“You make it difficult for yourself!” The depth of Elladan’s lack of understanding made Elrohir feel like he was shriveling, as if the very fabric of his body was being sucked out of him and leaving him desolate and empty.

“I wish you had more respect for me,” Elrohir said, pulling back from Elladan and returning to the windowsill. His heart felt hollow. His voice wavered. “You say you do, but you don’t. You don’t think I am as strong as you, and this has worsened it.”

Elladan scoffed, and finally he retreated, shaking his head even as he went into his own room. Elrohir went to bed and did not get up again.

* * *

 

Elrohir woke late the next morning. He wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep. He must have slept the day away.

The sun was already up. Lessons were due to start soon; it would be worth it to go, and show Erestor that he was alive and moving. He knew that Erestor would report back to his father.

He could not get up.

It was if there was a weight upon his chest, crushing him. He visualized himself picking out his clothes, going to the bathroom to dress, going to fetch his own breakfast before the hall opened, since he knew Elladan wouldn’t be getting him anything this morning. He would return to his room to eat it, looking out the window and listening to the sounds as he liked to do. He could envision it so perfectly, and he wanted it so badly.

But he could not get up.

It felt like something had grabbed onto his heart and squeezed it. The energy to shift to a more comfortable position was too much; his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and he could not force his hand to move and brush it aside. Terror rose in his heart and choked him, because no matter how he tried, he could not move.

In his mind, he wept, but his body stayed still and silent. He could hear in the next room that Elladan was waking. Elrohir did not know when he shifted, but he was holding his head, clutching at his scalp through his hair with trembling hands. Elladan opened the door between their rooms but did not come in, and then he shut the door again. Elrohir heard Elladan dress and leave for lessons.

 _Please leave me alone,_ he whispered, but he did not know who he was whispering to inside his head. _Please stop hurting me._

* * *

 

Elrond returned from his expedition to a neighboring town later that morning.

He caught Elladan just as he was leaving his lessons in the library.

“Good morning,” Elrond said. Elladan nodded to him, and his face was missing its usual joy.

“Hello, Adar.”

“Where is your brother?”

“He is asleep still. I did not have the heart to wake him.”

“You left him alone?”

“He was deeply asleep, Adar. And I left a guard outside the door so that they would hear if anything went wrong or if he woke.”

That was unusual behavior for Elrohir; even at his lowest point, he always went to his lessons and his healing training. Elrond’s brow furrowed. He wanted to ask more questions, but Elladan was already gone.

“Elladan tells me that Elrohir did not come today,” he said to Erestor. Erestor nodded.

“He wasn’t here yesterday, either.”

Elrond’s heart lurched with worry. He tried to calm himself. Sleeping late was not a crime.

He wanted desperately to go to Elrohir, but there was some paperwork that needed to be done following his trip. If he did not do it now during lunch, he would have to do it during dinner, and miss out on the time with his son then. He went to his office, ignoring the worry that gnawed at his heart.

* * *

 

 “Have you seen Elrohir?” Elrond asked Anordil when he arrived at the Healing Halls an hour later. She was replacing used plates and filling jugs of water, which Elrond recognized as one of Elrohir’s usual duties. His heart leapt to his throat.

“No. Was he meant to come today? He wasn’t here yesterday.” Where had Elrohir been yesterday, that he had not gone to lessons and training?

“He told me he was coming.” Elrond’s chest was growing tight with alarm.

“Go to him,” Anordil said, and her voice was serious, deep. “I will keep things under control here.”

Elrond ran.

* * *

 

Elrohir felt dizzier as time went on, though he could not tell whether it had been minutes or hours or years since Elladan had left. The door to his room opened, and Elrond was at his bedside, kneeling by him. His face was concern. Elrohir curled up further and hid from his gaze.

“Elrohir. Elrohir, please look at me. What’s wrong?” Elrond’s voice was barely contained desperation. Elrohir’s heart lurched, and his body stayed still.

_I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did that made this happen, either._

* * *

 

When he saw that Elrohir could not get up, Elrond’s first thought was to get Elladan. It was too early for him to have left yet for training.

He opened the door between his sons’ rooms. Elladan was reclining on the bed. He was staring at the ceiling, obviously deep in thought, and his gaze landed lazily on Elrond.

“Elladan, come help me—something is wrong with your brother.” Elrond struggled to stay calm as he spoke. Elladan did not move.

“I will not.”

Elrond balked.

“Excuse me?”

“I will not. We’ve had an argument—he will not want to see me.” Elrond could tell that it was a cover; Elladan did not want to go to Elrohir, perhaps feared doing so.

“He needs you!” Elrond said through clenched teeth. Sometimes, Elladan reminded him of Elros; proud Elros, who would not bend his pride to help another when he was this young.

“He doesn’t.” Elrond had no more time to argue. He withdrew, but left the door open, so that Elladan would hear him and Elrohir and perhaps change his mind.

* * *

 

For a moment, Elrond was gone, and Elrohir thought he had left him. Then he was back.

Elrond’s hands were touching him. Warm, on his face, checking his pulse, feeling at his mouth to see the rate of his breathing.

_Healing hands._

_You have your father’s hands._

_If there is one thing that is most different between the two of you, it is your hands._

_You are not the warrior your brother is._

_I could not think of anything that has happened that would give you such feelings._

_You make it difficult for yourself!_

Too loud. It was too loud! Too many voices. Too much. Too much!

Elrond’s voice. He could make out a few of the words, barely, over the voices. _Calm. Wrong. Help._

As a wave drawn back from the shore, there was sudden silence. His ears rang. Elrohir let his arms slowly unwrap from his head, laying listlessly against the pale sheet.

“Elrohir. Can you hear me?”

He nodded, a tiny tilt of his chin towards his chest. He could hear Elrond’s sigh of relief. He wondered how much time had passed; it felt like hours.

“What happened?”

Elrohir shook his head. It was impossible to describe what had happened to him, what was _happening_ to him, this painful vice that held him to the bed without cause. He felt exhausted, shattered, as if something within him had shifted and grown heavy. He reached with trembling fingers and grasped at Elrond’s hand. It was warmer than his own. He held it to his cold, clammy forehead as if he could pass all this on to him and he would understand.

It seemed for a moment as if it had worked. Elrond’s face morphed with panic and grief. The silence that stretched on after that drained Elrohir of all feeling, and he lay quiet, letting himself fall into the uneasy embrace of sleep.

* * *

 

Elrond had no idea what he was supposed to do. His fear was paralyzing, and he sat at Elrohir’s bedside holding his hand, simply thinking about all that had transpired.

Glorfindel came looking for him after about half an hour. It was probably something important that he came for, but when he saw the look on Elrond’s face, he came to sit by him and did not mention it. His piercing gaze went easily over Elrohir’s sleeping form.

“What happened?”

“He’s been in bed since yesterday morning. I didn’t even know until he did not come to the Healing Halls, and when I found him, he was unresponsive for several minutes.” The words were flat. Glorfindel’s face was creased with sadness.

“He will pull through, Elrond.”

“You didn’t see him.” Elrond released Elrohir’s hand and leaned forward to rest his head in his hands. He felt drained. His son’s instability was deeply unsettling. He rubbed at his temples. “I don’t know how to help him. What possibly could have caused this?”

“I do not know.” Glorfindel’s strong hand was on his back, reassuring and warm. “Celebrían is due to arrive within the week, so long as she received your letter. She may be able to provide insight that we cannot glean from him ourselves.”

Elrond barely heard him. The feeling of Elrohir’s hand and his forehead, so cold as he slept, lingered on Elrond’s fingertips. It shook him to his core.

“Elladan wouldn’t come to him, even when I told him how bad it was. This rift between them will do no good. He’s fading away,” Elrond whispered.

“He’s so cold. If we don’t do something soon, he will…” The thought was unnatural and terrible; a death from nothing, a death from one’s own mind.

“Your wife will be able to tell us something,” Glorfindel said _._ “Everything’s going to be all right.”

Elrond was not so sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: This chapter includes a depiction of suicide as part of a dream sequence. A summary of the chapter is provided below for readers who do not wish to read this content so that they may read future chapters without confusion.  
> Summary: Elrohir begins to write letters about his turmoil. He gives them to Elrond, giving permission for him, Glorfindel, and Erestor to read them. Elladan is hurt that he is not allowed to read the letters, and he tries to hide how distraught he is growing over Elrohir’s condition. After reading his letters, Glorfindel recognizes Elrohir’s anxiety, as Glorfindel suffered from similar symptoms when he was first reborn. Elrond recognizes Elrohir’s depressive tendencies from his own youth. They decide to go talk to Elrohir, and when they go to talk to him, Elrohir has a panic attack. Glorfindel manages to calm him down. Glorfindel and Elrond tell Elrohir about their experiences, but Elrohir does not find them encouraging, as both Glorfindel and Elrond can easily identify the causes of their mental issues and Elrohir cannot.  
> Elladan talks with Rammasdir at dinner, admitting his frustration and hurt towards Elrohir. That night, Elladan has a nightmare of Elrohir killing himself that greatly disturbs him.  
> The next morning, Elladan is volatile and he has an argument with Elrohir. After this, Elrohir goes to sleep and does not wake up until the next day, at which point he finds himself unable to rise from his bed. Elrond finds him like this and calls for Elladan, but Elladan won’t come. Elrond realizes that Elrohir is fading.  
> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment.


	9. Part 3, Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Elrohir had lost all concept of time.

He lay in his bed, unable to muster the energy to speak at length or explain what could've caused this terrible tiredness. He sipped at water when Elrond begged him to but did not eat. He drifted between sleep and the waking world, at times finding that his mind was too noisy to bear and at other times finding it so quiet that he could not feel anything at all.

Every time Elrohir woke, Elrond was at his bedside, watching him. The look on his face convinced Elrohir that he was dying. He never saw Elladan.

* * *

Five days had passed. Glorfindel had had quite enough of Elladan's negligence of his brother.

He had never known Elrohir particularly well; it seemed no one really did. He had known him only as an extension of Elladan, or a counterweight that kept his louder, more impulsive brother in check. Knowing now from his letters how much his training had burdened the younger twin and how Elrohir was so like his past self, he felt a patriarchal tenderness towards him that had previously been reserved for Elladan. He could stand for him to be hurt no longer.

It was the weekly day off from training, so Glorfindel had to do some searching to find Elladan. He found him in the library. He was looking through old tomes and scribbling notes in illegible handwriting. Glorfindel remembered vaguely Erestor mentioning that as their coming-of-age approached, Elladan and Elrohir had lessons structured around the creation of a final project, an act of community service that displayed their skills. Elladan was hard at work.

"What are you working on?" Glorfindel asked him. Elladan jumped. Glorfindel glanced at the books around him; they were all war-books, histories with descriptions of the weapons and strategies employed in various battles, as well as more practical strategy books.

"My project. I don't know what it'll be yet, but Erestor said to research anything that interested me deeply."

Glorfindel did not reply to that, sitting down across the table from Elladan and lounging in his chair.

"Pull your mind from the drama of battle for a moment and listen to me," Glorfindel said. "I don't know what it is that's gone on between you and Elrohir, but he needs your support now, and you are not doing your duty as his brother."

Elladan sighed, snapping his book shut. His eyes narrowed.

"He sent you?"

"No. He hasn't asked for you. He hasn't been out of bed in five days. Won't eat anything."

"His self-destruction is not my fault."

"It is when you have the power to help him," Glorfindel said sternly. "What is a warrior's duty on the battlefield?"

"Shield the hurt; defend the weak," Elladan said. Glorfindel had made a point of drilling it into his students' heads, and he had lost count of how many times he had said it.  _The point of fighting any individual battle is not to defeat evil necessarily. That is what a war is for. The point of a battle is to shield the hurt; defend the weak._  He had died in Gondolin for that belief, and would do so again in a heartbeat.

"And I call upon you now and tell you that your brother is fighting a battle just as real as one with swords. He is weak and hurt and it is your duty to protect him."

Elladan's face was stony.

"He won't let me in, anyway."

"He will if you ask him. He is fading."

Glorfindel could see Elladan tense in his seat. His face paled, his brows drawing in and his mouth opening, stuttering.

"W-what?"

"Your father's prognosis."

"How?" Elladan was breathless. "What  _from?"_

"We do not know. That is why I ask you to go to him."

Elladan's hand grasped at the edge of the table. It was trembling, and Glorfindel could see a blind, confused terror rising on his face.

"It is not too late to help him. But we need your insight into his mind, through your bond. If you help us understand what ails him, we can help him."

Elladan gathered up his books and papers into a neat pile. His jaw was clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Where is he now?"

* * *

Elrond's face softened with relief when Elladan came in. The sight of it made Elladan sad.

"Glorfindel told me you want me to look into his mind." He put his books down on the table and came over to Elrohir's bedside. Elrohir was paler than Elladan had ever seen him, curled on his side on the bed. He was utterly still as he slept. His hands, now out of their bandages, were wrapped in ugly white scars.

"I was hoping you'd be able to. I don't know quite how your bond works anymore; I thought I did when you were young," Elrond said.

"I fear it may be limited," Elladan said. "He shut me out when he was hurt. I don't know if I can still use it."

He pulled a strand of hair out of Elrohir's face and patted his cheek, calling his name softly. Elrohir opened his eyes. They were darker than normal.

"Elrohir," Elladan whispered. Elrohir squinted at him. He looked so tired and so sad. Elladan leaned to press their foreheads together, trying with all his might to send a wave of sorryness, of love, of protectiveness. Elrohir's hand came and grasped at the side of Elladan's face. Elrohir's face was damp with tears.

"I wanted to try and use our bond to get a better sense of what is troubling you," Elladan said. "Would that be all right?"

Elrohir wiped his eyes. The simple action seemed to exhaust him.

"Okay." His voice was raspy. He closed his eyes and Elladan took his brother's prone hand and lifted it into both his own.

Elladan closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, once, twice, and he delved into the space between their minds. Elrohir's breathing fell into sync with his.

He found Elrohir in the deepest part of his own heart.

As Elrohir let their connection grow, to Elladan it felt like a trickle of water that grew into a stream.

_Sadness._

Deeper.

_Shame. Guilt. Fear._

Deeper.

_Inferior. Small. Worthless._

The feelings were coming over him in waves, aching, freezing and boiling him in succession. He was crying. With the emotions came snippets of memory, sentences and glimpses through Elrohir's eyes. His thoughts. Observations.

_Outrage. They didn't notice I was gone. What's the point in even going?_

_Glorfindel and Erestor favor him. Everyone favors him. He knows it._

_When Elladan picks a partner to spar with, he picks anyone else, unless our parents are there, and then he picks me. He knows he can reliably beat me. He wants to put on a show of my defeat._

_"Penneth." A hundred times in different voices. Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor, Celebrían._

_"Little brother."_

_What if she died and it is my fault because I couldn't just get a grip and control myself?_

_You're dreadfully serious._

_Please leave me alone._

_Please stop hurting me._

_I'm sorry. I don't know what I did that made this happen, either._

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

A firm hand gripped his shoulder, and Elladan came back to his own body with a jolt and a gasp. Glorfindel had shaken him. Elladan felt Glorfindel's strong hands push his hair behind his ears, pulling it away from his sweaty forehead.

"Are you all right?" Elrohir's voice. Elladan turned to look at him. His sunken face, hallowed cheeks, and dark eyes made sudden, terrible sense.

"Is that—is that all the time?" Elladan choked out.

"I did not feel anything out of the ordinary, so I…think so. But I do not know what you saw. What you felt."

"So much. Too much, all at once. How can you hold all this in all the time?" Elrohir's smile was so sad. Elladan felt his heart break solidly in two in his chest.

"You're more expressive than me," Elrohir said. He pulled his hand from Elladan's. "I find it easier to hold it in than to express it."

Elladan choked on a chuckle, leaning to kiss his brother's forehead. He wiped the tears from his eyes. He wanted to see clearly.

"I'm going to go and calm down," he said softly. "And you should rest. When I return, we can talk."

Elladan could feel Elrohir's heart again at last. It felt tired but relieved.

* * *

Elladan did not return. Elrond assured Elrohir that Elladan just needed some time to get his bearings.

Celebrían arrived as the sun was beginning to set. Feeling newly invigorated by Elladan's understanding, Elrohir suggested that their family go eat dinner together in their private dining room. When everyone was agreed, he went to bathe and change his clothes for the first time in days. He felt better he came out.

"Let me braid your hair," Celebrían said. Elrohir managed a smile, though it was hesitant—he wasn't sure how much she knew of his condition, and the thought made him uneasy.

She combed his wet hair, smoothing it down before moving to braid it. Her hands were gentle. It was like she smoothed his rough edges with her touch and the scent of her perfume. Her presence was always calming to him.

"I missed you," he murmured. She smiled, and as she tied off his braid she leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

"I missed you, too, my darling." She looked him over thoroughly, and he knew that she knew  _something_. "Are you ready for dinner?"

He nodded.

* * *

When they were all sitting down with plates of food, Elladan opened his mouth to speak of what had happened. Elrohir rested a hand on his knee.

 _Don't. Please. It can wait until morning._  The moment of normalcy was tantalizing.

Elladan nodded to him. Elrohir smiled.

They all asked Celebrían questions about her trip until long after they'd cleaned their plates.

"Your grandparents are eager to see you," Celebrían said to them both. "They will arrive in the morning on the day of the ceremony."

Their coming-of-age ceremony was scheduled for their begetting day at the beginning of October, just over two months away. The guest list was long and still open, littered with important names—Thranduil and his family, Galadriel and Celeborn, and several kings of men included among them. Most of the population of Imladris would be in attendance.

"Perhaps afterwards, once you've both settled in, we could travel to Lothlorien to see them," Elrond said. It was not a trip they made frequently; Elrohir could only remember having visited his grandparents at their home twice in his entire life.

"I would like that," Elladan said. Elrohir nodded after a moment of hesitation.

After a long moment, Elladan stood.

"I am going to retire."

"I will come with you," Elrohir said. He was beginning to feel tired; this burst of energy at his mother's return had lasted longer than he had expected, but it was running out.

"Sleep well," Celebrían said. Her smile was soft.

"Good night, Naneth," they said together. Elrohir trailed behind Elladan down the hall towards the family suite. They walked in silence.

When they arrived, Elladan paused outside Elrohir's door. He leaned to kiss his brother's forehead and Elrohir closed his eyes.

"I'll join you once I'm dressed for bed." Elladan retreated to his room to change, and Elrohir went to do the same. When he lay down, Elladan came behind him.

"Good night," Elladan murmured. Elrohir smiled.

"Good night."

* * *

Elrond and Celebrían spent a few hours in the Hall of Fire. It was mostly empty, as they had eaten dinner late.

"Do you still wish for another child?" Celebrían asked after they had talked for some time. Elrond could barely hear her over the crackling of the fires. She was leaning against his chest, lazily tracing the embroidery on his tunic with one finger.

"I do," Elrond said. He knew she wanted the same; they had discussed it before she left. "But I think we ought to wait until everything has settled down with the boys. Elrohir especially. I want to be sure that he's happy and stable before I let my attention be drawn elsewhere...Do you know of what's happened?"

Celebrían nodded.

"My mother told me." Her face was grieved. Elrond was glad that Galadriel knew—she had likely seen in a vision or in her mirror but had known better than to let Celebrían see.

"And you're right," she said. She looked up at him after a moment, the gold from the fire staining her blue eyes a warm brown.

"Is he all right now? He seemed all right at dinner."

"I cannot tell anymore," Elrond admitted. "He was struggling this morning. This is the first time he's been up and about in days. Elladan reached into their bond to get a better understanding of what's troubling him, and Elrohir has been more energetic since then. And he's calmer since your return. Your presence is good for all of us, my love," he said. He did not mention his earlier analysis that Elrohir was fading—hopefully, Elladan's intervention had eliminated that possibility, and she did not need to know how close to calamity they had come. She smiled.

"I asked my mother to see what she could tell of his future, when I got your letter."

"What did she see?"

"He will flourish, in time. He just needs some time." Her nose wrinkled; he could tell she was thinking, remembering.

"His power will grow. He will become more powerful than you, and perhaps even wiser."

The thought was comforting to Elrond. He wished for nothing more than for his children to surpass him in every measure.

"We talked at length about the two of them. My mother thought that Elladan's skill with a blade may have some magic involved with it, as well—she said that she got that impression last time she saw him but did not want to tell him, thinking Elrohir would feel left out. I doubt there is a way to confirm whether it is magic or talent."

"Magic seems realistic," Elrond said. Elladan had always been powerful with a sword, and it was nearly effortless for him. He put in half the work and came out twice as good as the other members of his training group.

They had lapsed into silence. Elrond had nearly forgotten how much he had missed her. His heart's song had mellowed with her near. Perhaps everything seemed so stressful only because she was not there to comfort him.

He looked at her face as she slowly fell asleep against him. She was warm, flushed cheeks and pink lips, as beautiful and enchanting as the day he met her. He pressed a feather-light kiss to her lips and she smiled sleepily.

When he was sure she was asleep, Elrond picked up his wife, her head still against his chest, and carried her through the nearly-empty halls to their bed.

* * *

The next morning, Elrohir was at the window, looking out as he always did. Elladan did not disturb him this time. After a few minutes of silence, Elrohir turned to him.

"When you are dressed, Adar and I were hoping that you'd be willing to talk today about all the things that I saw yesterday," Elladan said. "It would be us, and Adar, and Naneth, plus Erestor and Glorfindel. During the time when we normally have lessons after breakfast."

The thought was overwhelming. Elrohir swallowed, taking a minute to calm his pounding heart before giving a hesitant nod.

"What will it be like?"

"I thought I would say some of the things I saw and felt, and you could add anything—if you wanted to. And they could talk about it a bit. And then onto the next. You wouldn't have to do anything but listen, unless there was something you wanted to say."

"Will you sit with me?" Elrohir asked. He could not bear the thought of sitting on his own.

"If you wish it." Elladan smiled, softer than usual. After a moment of silence, Elladan stood.

"I'll get us breakfast," he said. He opened the door and then paused, as if he had just thought of something.

"I thought—" Elladan said. "When you cut yourself off from me, I thought it was because you didn't want to fix our bond—that you did it only reluctantly because I'd asked, and it was not your true wish. I am glad that I was mistaken." He stepped out and closed the door behind him.

* * *

The six of them gathered in the living room. It was a large room, awash in pale blue and silver furnishings, a tribute to Caras Galadhon, as Celebrían had designed.

As promised, Elladan sat next to Elrohir. Elrohir felt his throat tighten with nervousness, and his hands began to shake. Elladan reached and entwined their fingers and squeezed Elrohir's hand tight.

"I wanted to start at the beginning," Elladan said. "Or at least, what felt like the beginning to me." He looked only at Elrohir while he spoke.

"It was several months ago—that day when you missed training, back in February. You came down and saw me there, and Adar and Naneth, and felt hurt because you thought we'd forgotten you, or hadn't cared that you weren't there."

Elrohir nodded. Said aloud it seemed petty, silly, that such a small event could cause such a spiral.

"I was—my energy was low before that." He took a moment to catch his breath.  _Y_ _ou don't have to do anything but listen, unless there is something you want to say._  He wanted to say this, to clarify.

"And I still got anxious before that sometimes. But that was when it began to worsen." Elladan squeezed his hand.

"Oh, Elrohir," Celebrían said mournfully. "If I'd known that it had hurt you I would've told you. I went to find you when you weren't there near the start, and I saw you were sleeping. I didn't want to wake you. I told Glorfindel you would not be there. I didn't know you'd woken before it ended. I wanted to tell you, but—I did not see you that day, or the next."

Elrohir's head spun. He looked to Glorfindel, feeling rather dizzy.

"But—you knew? When I came to the next training, you told—you asked me why I hadn't been there before."

"You are old enough to explain yourself. I would not have penalized you, but the tone you took with me was not acceptable."

Glorfindel was far from apologetic, but Elrohir did not expect anything less from him. The thought that all this pain had come from a misunderstanding made his heart clench.

"I suppose I should've said something," Elrohir said. "It sounds so silly now."

"It is not silly. It caused you pain," Elrond said firmly. "But you are right. We all could have communicated more effectively in that scenario."

They fell silent. Elladan looked at Elrohir, and Elrohir nodded that he could go on.

"That touched upon the feeling of loneliness," Elladan said. "And isolation. But I got the impression that you believe it is a part of your nature to be quiet and not necessarily inviting to potential friends and relationships—and that belief causes you to isolate yourself."

Elrohir was scratching impulsively at the back of his neck. They were all looking at him.

"It's not—well, yes, but—" He struggled with how to put it. "I mean, look at you. Look. All your friends go out with you after training and you all have a good time. I don't have any peers that enjoy my company."

"That is not true," Glorfindel said. "What of Rammasdir?"

"He is Elladan's friend over being mine. We do not know each other well."

"Caenir, then."

"But I—Caenir idolizes me, for reasons I'll admit I don't quite understand. But that makes it impossible for me to be a real friend to him, when he practically worships the ground I walk on. I get so nervous and I can't—I can't get myself to be outgoing or friendly or anything. And perhaps people would like me if they knew me—that is not for me to decide—but they don't know me. No one knows me."

"We know you," Elrond said.

"You didn't realize I was in the middle of a crisis until I'd already hurt myself," Elrohir said, and then regretted how sharply he had said it. He took a deep breath.  _Take your time._  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that so harshly. But because I spend so much time alone, I find it hard to believe that anyone knows me particularly well, and recent events have proved that."

There was silence as his answer. He felt his voice growing tight, choked.

"And I—I wish that I could make it easier to know me. I promise. But I don't even know why I do things half the time myself. And even if all of you did know me well, there are no people my own age who are willing to invest the time to  _get_  to know me, when I do not seem immediately friendly or outgoing. They take Elladan and then I come with him. I don't have friends of my own. I had Anordil, but—" The thought was too painful to continue.

"I had wondered what had happened between the two of you," Elrond said. Elrohir looked to Elladan. He wasn't sure Elladan would want him to say what had happened, for it certainly did not paint him in a good light.

"I convinced him to step away from her," Elladan said. He sounded ashamed. "It—I regret it now. I was jealous of her. I know I did not tell you, Elrohir, but I am sorry about all of that."

Elrohir had never seen Elrond look at Elladan with as much disappointment on his face as he did in that moment.

"I've talked to her about it. She…she would be reconciled with you, if you are willing," Elladan said. Elrohir's throat clogged at the thought.

"I'll think about it."

They sat in silence. Elrohir had run out of things to say. Finally, Glorfindel spoke.

"We can take steps to ease your anxiety in social situations so that you are more comfortable around others. That may help you form friendships independently of Elladan," he said.

"And, in addition—" Erestor said, picking up the sentence as if it had not ended. "I think that we in the room should be in agreement that we've made assumptions about you based on your quietness, your politeness, and that was wrong of us. But I assure you that we—well, I can only speak for myself—I will make an effort to know you truly, instead of taking you at face value. I think we owe you that by now."

Elrohir did not realize that there were tears streaming down his cheeks until Elladan reached to wipe them away.

"Do you want to stop for a while?" Elladan asked him.

"No," he whispered, wiping at his eyes with his sleeves. "No, I'm okay. I'm okay. Thank you." He said it both to Elladan for his concern, and to Erestor and Glorfindel for their words. They lapsed into silence.

"I only had one more thing that I saw, or felt, and it was—this is the biggest one, I think. It came up everywhere." Elladan looked at Elrohir. His face was sadder than Elrohir had ever seen it. "And what I saw was that one of the largest causes of all these feelings of hopelessness, and despair, and anger and hurt and sadness, was that you feel inferior to me."

All the adults around them opened their mouths to protest. Elrohir held up his hand, and they held their tongues.

"Let me make clear the reasons why I think this." He was getting more confident with his words, for he had had mostly positive reception. It felt like for once people were really listening to him, and he could not waste such an opportunity.

"I know—I know that you will all argue that you think no such thing, especially Adar and Naneth. But I am quiet and I am observant, and you treat us differently in ways that hurt me deeply. It is not a new development.

"All of you call me 'penneth', or 'little one', or some variation. Elladan, you used to call me little brother, even when you  _knew_  it bothered me." He struggled to stay calm. "None of you ever call Elladan by pet names like this. I would not mind them if you did. But it makes me feel small when I am just as old as him and I am nearly an adult.

"Erestor and Glorfindel, you know I have the utmost respect for both of you, but I'd like to ask that you look long and hard at how you treat your students and make an effort to treat them more equally. Erestor, when I did not listen to you about my hands, when I did not go to Adar—that had  _nothing_  to do with the lesson, and I think you overstepped your bounds as my teacher. And you zeroed a large assignment because of it when it was not under your jurisdiction, and was my business. I am not a child to be managed. I will not bend to your every whim.

"Glorfindel, of course Elladan is your favorite. He is passionate, and fighting comes very naturally to him. But you should not value what one produces over one's effort. I worked  _so_  hard in all your trainings and Elladan did not, but you praised him endlessly and never gave me credit for how hard I worked there. I was miserable, and my own psyche was most of the reason, but your training did not help. You helped me grow as a warrior, but not as a person. I felt trapped. It was as if I—I was his inverse, his shadow, not my own person. That was the  _worst feeling."_

The silence that followed was more strained than the last.

"I wish you all respected me. Because—because I am quieter than him, and because I am not as expressive as him—that does not mean I'm weaker than him, or less than him. And I need to learn that. And you need to learn that. And then I will be happier."

Celebrían looked crestfallen. They all did. Elrohir felt terrible for ruining their morale.

"You're right," Elrond said after a long pause. "You're right. This comes as a relief to me."

Elrohir's brow furrowed.

"I thought you were…insulted."

"No!" Elrond said. His face split into a smile. "There is a way we can help you. I am so glad there is a way we can help you. Getting to know you, and showing and increasing our respect and love for you—we can do that. We can do that."

"That's all I had to say," Elladan said after a moment. Glorfindel and Erestor were still shaken. Elrohir could tell from the ways they held themselves—Glorfindel with his shoulders back and chest out as if he were trying to make himself bigger, and Erestor, his arms protectively about his chest—that he had unnerved them. They left together.

Elrond had duties to attend to in the Healing Halls, and he left after pressing a kiss to the twins' heads. Celebrían came forward to them once everyone was gone.

"I am so proud of both of you," she whispered. She held Elrohir's cheek in her left hand and Elladan's in her right. "I know that I left at a bad time, and you know I would have stayed if I'd known. But you have pulled through, and you always, always will, if you stay together. You must support one another through everything."

"We will," Elladan said. Elrohir just smiled a little, leaning into her touch.

She looked to be on the verge of tears. She managed a smile and then departed, leaving them alone.

A moment passed before Elrohir spoke.

"I wanted to talk to you alone," he murmured. Speaking to Elladan made him more nervous, perhaps because the repercussions if Elladan reacted poorly would be so strong.

"About what?" Elladan asked.

"I wanted—much of what I said to them was also for you. About…about respecting me, knowing me. And I…I am happy to reform our bond, but I…" He tried to think of what to say.

"You need space," Elladan said. Elrohir nodded, relieved that Elladan knew what he wanted and did not seem angry. "You're right."

"I do not want to be in a state of fighting with you," Elrohir said timidly. "But I—I need to work on growing and being apart from you. Being my own self."

Elladan smiled at him, but it did not quite reach his eyes.

"I understand. I'll see you at dinner, brother."

As he left, Elrohir felt both sad and strangely content, a loneliness that was not so bad.

* * *

Immediately when he returned to his room, Elladan took out a piece of parchment and a quill. His heart was heavy but hopeful.

_Anordil,_

_My brother and I have come to an agreement to keep our distance from one another for the time being. I hope that you will now be able to comfort him as I cannot._

_Elladan._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Part 3. Things are turning around at last. Please leave a review! Thank you for reading.
> 
> A note based on past reviews: I know that this story, particularly because it is told mostly from Elrohir's perspective, makes it very easy to fall into the trap of blaming Elladan for Elrohir's feelings or thinking that Elladan does not have good characteristics. This is born partly from the bias in Elrohir's perspective, as he can't see what's going on in Elladan's head. Remember that Elladan is just as young as Elrohir, and just as inexperienced with dealing with his emotions. As you know if you've read Three Wasted Years, Elladan does eventually mellow out and becomes a very supportive brother when he learns to convey his protectiveness constructively and to handle temporary rejection - he just needs time to learn. (Just a note that I don't consider TWY and this story to be in the same timeline/universe-TWY is its own AU.) So please give Elladan a chance to redeem himself in your minds!


	10. Part 4, Chapter 1

Part 4

_"Out of the night that covers me,_

_Black as the pit from pole to pole,_

_I thank whatever gods may be_

_For my unconquerable soul…_

_It matters not how straight the gate,_

_How charged with punishments the scroll,_

_I am the master of my fate,_

_I am the captain of my soul."_

William Ernest Henley,  _Invictus_

Chapter 1

He was allowed to sleep over after that.

The next day, Elrohir got up early. He sat by the window, reading, before the breakfast bell. The knock on his door made him jump.

"Come in." Anordil stepped in with a tray of food and a small smile.

"I am sorry to disturb you," she said. "I've spoken with Elladan. He told me about his jealousy, and I had hoped that we could be reconciled." She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Elrohir looked at anything but her face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. It seemed so foolish now that he'd given her friendship up so easily, but he had not been able to handle it at the time. "I…I am glad you're here."

She smiled. There was still an awkward tension between them, but he felt so glad for her presence that it hardly bothered him.

"I wanted to tell you about myself," she said. She put the tray down on his desk. "I realized that I know so much about you and you so little about me. It seemed unfair."

She put a plate of food and a cup of juice in front of him. He picked at his food as she talked.

"I was born near the beginning of the Second Age," she said. "I lived in Eryn Galen until relatively recently. I did not take a husband until late in my life. Only a couple of years after we were wed, we went together to the War of the Last Alliance. He was slain, and I returned home."

The story chilled him. Elrohir turned away.

"I could not face my pain then. I turned to hurting myself, for it was the only thing that seemed to quiet the voices in my head." The explanation was so true to him that Elrohir's hand raised to his chest, pressing upon his heart.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"It sounds like me," he managed to whisper. "How…you're okay now. Aren't you?"

"Mostly," she said. Her smile was soft. "I do not hurt myself anymore, at least. It's been a long time and moving here helped me. I hope that I can be here for you as your family cannot, for I have been where you are, not too long ago."

He wanted to hug her. Instead he swallowed the sob that was building in his throat and ate the breakfast she'd brought for him, despite how it hurt to swallow.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."

* * *

Elrohir stayed in his room for the next few days. He still felt tired, taking naps in the day and sleeping late, but the hopelessness of his situation had dissipated. He wrote letters to Elrond and Erestor and Glorfindel, some of which he gave to them and some of which he hid away in the drawers of his desk and would never show to anyone.

They all came to visit him every once in a while. They were gentler, careful with him. As the days passed, Elrohir felt happier around them. He knew that they gave him special consideration, and it touched him rather than bothering him.

Erestor came to see Elrohir that Friday in his rooms. Elrohir was reading a book at the window when Erestor knocked and entered.

"Elrohir," he greeted. He came to stand beside Elrohir.

"I know you haven't been able to make it to your lessons this week," Erestor began. "And that is no fault of either of ours. But it is imperative that you start researching and designing your project if it is to be complete for the ceremony."

Elrohir had known that the missed lessons and trainings would demand his attention at some point. He nodded.

"Will you be at lessons tomorrow?" Erestor asked.

"I can try to be," Elrohir said. Erestor nodded.

"If you do, try to have some ideas written down so we can discuss them."

Elrohir nodded. After a moment of silence, Erestor left.

* * *

Elrohir woke early the next day with a plan to go to his lessons. He was beginning to miss his field training group, but he hadn't woken early enough to go to the field session. As if she heard his call for company, Anordil showed up at that moment with a tray of breakfast. Since her first visit, now nearly a week ago, she had come every day.

"Good morning," she said. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," he said. She came in and put the tray on the table, dividing the plates and cups between the two of them.

"How much has my father told you about what's been going on with me?" Elrohir asked after a few minutes. He was finally beginning to grow entirely comfortable with her again.

"Nothing. He's quite secretive when he wants to be," Anordil said. Elrohir nodded.

"I've been struggling with some things. It feels like—well, the way I have found to describe it is through metaphor. The day after I hurt myself, I was outside on the balcony in the rain. All the individual raindrops combined in such enormous force that it hurt me, and I could not get myself to go back inside; Elladan pulled me in, in the end." He paused.

"You recognized my pain early on, didn't you?"

"I did." She spread some jam on a piece of toast. "I had hoped that you would come to me."

"I did not wish to burden you," Elrohir said. "And there have been so many people showing their support for me—not just my family, but Glorfindel and Erestor, too. Sometimes, adding another person to my list of people to talk to seems like too much, especially when..." _When I had sent you away in the first place._

She seemed to appreciate his honesty as she nodded and took a bite of her toast.

"I recognized my younger self in you when I saw what you had done to yourself," she said.

Elrohir chewed thoughtfully before he replied.

"One of the things—well, my father and Glorfindel have had similar symptoms to me. I find it hard to take comfort from them because they have long lists of reasons to be disturbed—my father's childhood with all its turmoil and the eventual death of his brother, and Glorfindel, with his death and rebirth. I feel I am too young to go through such things, and I have no reason to, not really."

"You do not need a reason," Anordil said, shrugging. "I think that, anyway. I lived among Men for a time, and they tend to accept those who are not quite mentally sound much easier than elves do. You should read about it."

"I will," Elrohir said. He meant it.

They didn't talk much after that. When it came time, Anordil stood up and smoothed her clothes down.

"Will you come back tomorrow?" he asked. She smiled and nodded, and then she was gone.

* * *

Elrohir went to his lessons with a list of ideas that he no longer was interested in. What Anordil had told him was buzzing in his mind.

Erestor was sitting at his desk. He motioned for Elrohir to sit down, but Elrohir shook his head.

"I want to check something before we discuss," he said. "Where can I find our books and records on mannish healing?"

Erestor didn't look too pleased to be brushed over.

"Please trust me," Elrohir said. "I promise I will not disappoint you."

Erestor's face softened.

"Third row, fourth shelf from the bottom," he said. Elrohir thanked him and went to the area he had described.

Elrohir looked through the books and their thick spines. He had often wondered why his father stored such seemingly useless information in the library, but he was grateful for it now. In any other circumstance, the records from Gondor's Healing Halls since its founding in the Second Age, which took up an entire shelf of thick books, would seem utterly useless, but they were just what he was looking for. There were additional documents in bins that described the healing practices of wandering peoples.

Elrohir found that many of the books and scrolls had a mention of "ailments of the mind." As he read the observations and treatments of healers of Men, most long dead, he felt a wave of relief that this information was available to him.

He didn't know how long he stayed in that secluded corner, scribbling notes and looking though book after book. The bell for lunch rang and he did not go. When he finally sat up, his back ached from the strain, and he had pages and pages of notes, messy, with arrows drawn between pages and notes added in different colors of ink. Erestor wasn't at his desk when Elrohir left with a couple of books and scrolls under his arm.

* * *

The days passed in a flurry of work. Elrohir had fallen behind in training in the Healing Halls, and even his background in combat was not enough to make up for having missed nearly a month of field training sessions. He'd have to put in extra hours for both groups to catch up. He stayed an hour after each field practice with Fanui. He returned to the Healing Halls each night after dinner for instruction from his father and Anordil.

At the end of his training he would face examination, and for the healing component, he was required to turn in reports of five patients that he cared for on his own from start to finish. It was a daunting task that added to the hours he spent in the Healing Halls.

When he was not in the Healing Halls or at field training, Elrohir spent hours at his desk, researching for his project. He didn't have to go to lessons anymore except to occasionally meet with Erestor about his project, but such a meeting could not be scheduled until he had his premise. He didn't want to tell Erestor or anyone else what it was until he was sure that he could bring it to fruition. Erestor had not been happy with this arrangement. Nonetheless, he had scheduled Elrohir's presentation for a panel for two weeks from the day he'd spoken with him, so that if he wasn't approved, he'd just barely have time to start over.

It was in his research that he found the word  _melancholia._  It was an illness of the mind, described countless times in the Gondorian texts. A terrible tiredness and sadness that sunk upon people, whether it was caused by trauma or inherited from a parent. He soaked in all the information he could find about it—its symptoms, its treatments, its potency.

The texts listed it among the most severe of mental illnesses, but also amongst the most treatable.

July blended into August.

The days blurred together. It was hard to keep himself to regular eating and sleeping schedules when the work seemed so endless before him. It was good that the topic held his interest, for if it didn't, he could not have borne the workload.

The only person who kept him from devoting every hour of the day and night to his work and training was Anordil. She checked for him at mealtimes and came to him with a tray of food and a lecture if he didn't go down to the dining hall. That Sunday, she made him leave the House behind for an entire day to travel and fish and go swimming, so that he wouldn't, as she put it,  _forget himself amidst the work._  He was endlessly grateful that she was there to help him maintain some semblance of normalcy but seemed content to let him work, so long as he took care of himself.

* * *

Elladan, despite his distance, could tell that Elrohir had both high and low days. Some days Elrohir came from his room smiling down to the dining hall, filled pages of notes and plans, and seemed to be returning to his vibrant, witty self. Other days, Elladan would peek into Elrohir's room and find him still in bed late into the morning, curled but awake, trembling and clenching his fists.

The fact that he could not help caused Elladan pain unlike any he had ever felt before.

There were four cups on the tea tray that morning. That was how Elladan knew something was wrong.

Elrond always set out a teapot and cups on a tray at night, so that whoever woke first could brew tea for the family to drink in the morning. That was usually Elrohir, and most days Elladan woke to find the teapot full and Elrohir's cup gone.

Elladan went to Elrohir's door and slid it open a crack.

It was dark inside, but he could see Elrohir's figure in the bed. He was still, and Elladan could see Elrohir's eyes were open from how the whites shone in the low light. Elrohir didn't look over at him. His eyes seemed locked on some faraway point.

_You cannot help him, Elladan,_  he told himself. His heart screamed at him to go forward.

He pulled back and closed the door.

There was a tightness in his throat _. Helpless._  He could not help his brother, the one who he was meant to protect above all others.

_You cannot help him._

_Someone else can._

His mind snapped to Anordil. He knew that her friendship with Elrohir had been renewed, but it seemed like a faraway thing to him when he was focused on improving himself. But even if he could not put his brother through the shame of help, Anordil cared for him too, and would certainly go to him if she knew of his pain.

He set off to find her.

* * *

Elladan found Anordil in the Healing Halls; she covered odd shifts, and when he had not found her in her rooms, Elladan had gone there. She was opening the curtains when he came in. She was the only one there. Everything was still and silent in the minutes before dawn.

"Elladan," she said. It was odd that she so easily could differentiate between him and Elrohir. Usually only their family and Glorfindel and Erestor who knew on sight which twin was which.

Anordil had observed Elrohir enough, he supposed, to know that Elladan was  _not Elrohir._

"Elrohir has not gotten out of bed," he said softly. "He is troubled—in pain. I cannot go to him, for I know he would be ashamed…I had hoped you would be willing."

She came closer and peered up at his face. Her eyes narrowed. At first, he thought she was angry, but then he realized she was just focusing, watching him as if he were some living puzzle. He waited until she pulled away from him.

"You really have changed, haven't you?" she mused, though he could tell she wasn't really talking to him. "First you separate us for your jealousy, and now you put us back together. At last your care for him has overcome your pride." She looked away and then back to him.

"I will go to him. Thank you for coming to find me."

He nodded. He felt united with her in that moment, for they stood together in their love for Elrohir. Eventually he realized her words were a dismissal, and he left.

He felt like he had done the right thing.

* * *

Every time Elrohir thought he was well, his mind brought him to his knees again. He woke that morning with dread in his gut and no energy to move.

The world outside was beginning to brighten.  _Late._  He wanted to go back to sleep. _Lazy._

The door creaked open.

He could not turn his head to see who had entered, but he did not need to. Anordil came and crouched by the side of the bed. She reached to smooth his hair away from his face.

"Do you want to talk?" she asked.

"No," he rasped. She nodded.

"All right. I will stay with you."

He wanted to tell her there was no need. His mind begged him to push her away, but even if he had had the energy, he would not have wanted to. His heart felt just barely lighter with her beside him.

"Thank you."

* * *

Elrohir could feel himself improving over time. That was not to say that he was completely energetic, nor that he was free of problems. Whenever he felt his anxiety grow, he went to Glorfindel, and he spent several hours combined in his office.

"Do you know what set it off this time?" Glorfindel asked him on one such occasion. Elrohir had finally caught his breath. It seemed like the wave of panic had come from nowhere, but he tried to follow his train of thought back from that moment, as Glorfindel had often advised him to do.

"I think…I was just thinking of all the things I have to do. I have  _so_  much to do. I must get on track with my project, and—and I'm not even done researching. And I have so many more hours that I need to put in at the Healing Halls before I'll be eligible for examination. And—and—I'm just so behind! And I keep losing hours because I keep coming to talk to you and Anordil when I am low. I ought to just keep going. I can keep going."

"Don't even consider that," Glorfindel said sternly. "This is necessary. This is just as necessary as anything you could be doing in the Halls right now if you want to stay healthy. We've seen what happens when you go on without confiding in anyone."

He was right. Elrohir took a long breath.

"You're right," he said. "You're right. But I should learn how to manage it better."

"That will come in time."

After a moment Elrohir stood.

"I am going to go back. Thank you."

"Anytime."

* * *

On the day that he was due to present his project concept, Anordil brought him a hearty breakfast and the reassurance that he would do well.

"How are you feeling as of late?" she asked him, handing him a plate of food.

"Tired. I'm still trying to get up to speed. But the hopelessness is gone, and I hope it will not return. Nervous for my presentation."

"You'll do well. It is important, and they know that just as well as you do." She was the only one who he had told about his project.

"Come to find me afterwards and tell me how it went."

He smiled. It was nice to have someone take an interest in what he was doing.

"I will." He did not eat much. The nervousness in his stomach quelled his appetite.

"I should go," he said. He stood and gathered his papers.

"One more bite." She sounded like his mother and Elrohir rolled his eyes. Anordil's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he stuffed a bite of toast in his mouth, taking a swig of the juice to wash it down.

"I'll see you afterwards. Keep your chin up," she told him, putting her fingers beneath his chin to lift it. He smiled to her. She left.

* * *

Elladan's panel had been Glorfindel, Erestor, and Elrond, so Elrohir wasn't surprised to find the three of them were his panel also. They were waiting for him in the library. He wasn't sure if the familiar faces made him more or less nervous about presenting his idea.

He shuffled his papers. He'd written a script. He glanced over it as Erestor, Glorfindel, and Elrond filed in and sat across the table from him.

"Whenever you're ready," Erestor said. He had a paper to take notes on. The other two did not. Elrohir nodded and swallowed. He looked at his script, thinking about what inflection he would use where. After a moment he began to read.

"As you all know, I have struggled as of late, not from any external cause but from things within my own mind. Anordil recommended that I consider the body of knowledge in the form of texts from healers in Gondor and Arnor, and I found that they had observed and treated many cases such as mine. For once, the elves are not ahead of the Men in healing." He managed a shaky smile, and Elrond smiled to him encouragingly. Elrohir had not breathed a word of his project's subject to anyone but Anordil, and he could tell that they were intrigued, wondering where he was going with his observations.

"I found in those texts descriptions of cases, some milder and some more extreme than my own—ailments of the mind. There were noted to be possibilities of both trauma induced and inherited ailments. I could not tell from my research whether there were more cases among Men than elves, or if those with such cases were simply more willing to come forward in mannish societies. There is a degree of stigma associated with ailments of the mind among the elves, and we in Imladris are no exception to this.

"Treatments in Gondor include therapy with experienced counsellors, as well as drugs such as stimulants or depressants to regulate mood. Therapy in groups with others suffering the same ailment has been observed to be particularly effective. With this in mind, my proposal is to establish a center for Mental Healing here in Imladris, in which trials of these drugs can be performed and observed, and where counsellors will be widely available to help those who suffer as I did. I think it is a necessary step to strengthen the community. I know that if such a center existed when I had first begun to have problems with my perception and my mood, I would've been happy to know that there were people available who could understand and help me."

He paused to breathe. Erestor was writing notes, his wrist snapping with each neat letter. Glorfindel glanced to Elrond to watch his reaction, and he had a little smile that Elrohir found immensely encouraging. He followed Glorfindel's gaze to Elrond, and the pride in Elrond's eyes was so profound that Elrohir felt it pierce him and spread through him like a warm breeze.

"I have the formal plans for the offered services here," he said. He'd written out neatly three copies, and he handed one to each of them. They looked them over for several minutes. Elrohir watched Erestor in particular, as he still hadn't made any eye contact at all. Elrohir moved his folded hands down to his lap and resisted the urge to pick his nails.

Erestor looked over to Elrond and then to Glorfindel to make sure they were finished reading. He put the small packet of papers down on the desk, put down his notepad and then his pen on top of it.

"This—" Elrohir's heart stopped for a moment at the solemnness of his tone— "is the most pertinent and well-designed of such projects that I have ever seen. You have my full support in seeing it to fruition."

Elrohir let out a long, shaking breath that he didn't know he'd been holding, a disbelieving chuckle catching at the end of the sigh. He was wide-eyed but smiling a little.

"Really?"

"Elrohir, I know the  _perfect_  place for this," Elrond said, his eyes alight with excitement. "You know that the Healing Halls have as many floors as the building—that is, four above ground, and one below. We generally only use the one on the first floor, as we don't have enough patients to fill any more. You could have your pick of any empty floor, so long as all the necessary supplies were still there in case of an emergency."

A whole floor of the Healing Halls, with its central hub and its many hallways and rooms, was like a dream. Of course, the rooms would have to be rearranged, but that would not be too difficult, and there could be a hallway for each ailment. He allowed himself to dream of it for a moment.

"I can offer you some information on how such a thing would be run—logistics I have learned after running the military side of this realm for so long. And if you ever tire of running it yourself in the future, I would be happy to manage it," Glorfindel said.

"If you would have me, I would be the first to sign up for the position of a counsellor. I know many others who would be interested, as well," Erestor said. There was a twinkle in his eye that Elrohir had never seen before.

Elrohir was overwhelmed with a swell of relief, glee. He grinned, elated with the result, the outpouring of support.

"I—thank you." He couldn't think straight over how happy he was. He gathered his notes and took a moment to get his bearings.

"I want to start setting up as soon as I can. I want it to be operational before the ceremony—not just starting."

"That is a lofty goal. I am sure if you work, you can reach it," Erestor told him. "You've been approved. I expect to see a scheduled plan for steps to completion tomorrow."

Elrohir took that as a dismissal. He stood and smiled one more time.

"Thank you," he said. He held his papers to his chest and left.


	11. Part 4, Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Once he was finished with his presentation, Elrohir went looking for Anordil.

He knocked on the door to her rooms and let himself in.

Anordil was not in the living room. That was unusual. She would normally have come to open the door, and he had thought she'd be waiting for him, eager to hear the outcome of his panel. But she was nowhere to be seen.

He'd been in her living room several times. It was decorated quite simply with dark furniture, and the walls were a regal purple. Off on the side was the door to the bathroom, which was ajar. She wasn't in there.

He had never been in her bedroom.

He felt a rising dread as he went to the bedroom door. It felt like a terrible invasion of her privacy. She probably wasn't even here. What if she had gone down to the Healing Halls for some emergency and forgotten to lock her door, and now he was snooping around her rooms?

His step faltered. His hand, reaching for the doorknob, hovered in the air.

Something pushed him forward. He opened the door. Anordil was inside.

It took him a moment to comprehend the scene before him. She was tidying. There were folded clothes on the bed, and there were books organized into little piles on her desk. She was standing over them.

Her knuckles were pale from the force with which they gripped the leather tome in her hands. It looked like an ordinary novel, and it was opened to the front page. Elrohir stepped closer and was startled by the sight of tears shining on her face.

She did not look up at him. He looked over her shoulder at the page.

_My beloved Anordil,_

_Happy anniversary!_

_I bought this book for you the day I saw it, but I couldn't think of a reason to give it to you just yet. It seemed so special. I will save it for our fifth anniversary and give it to you then._

_With all my love,_

_Feldir_

Feldir. Her husband, Elrohir supposed, who she had mentioned so briefly in her own history. He had been drowned out, in the way she told her tale, by her own slow falling apart afterwards, which had lasted so much longer than their brief marriage. Elrohir had thought that the grief itself was no longer a problem; she had been without him now for over two centuries, after all.

Evidently, there was more to it than that.

"Anordil," he said, and the gentleness of his own voice surprised him. "Anordil, it is me. Are you all right?"

She didn't reply. She looked at him, and there was something terrible and ghostly in her wide, wet eyes. She shook like a leaf in the wind, and he took the book from her hands and closed it, laying it on her desk among the others.

"You need to sit down," he said. "Come. Let's go to the sitting room."

He led her out of the bedroom and closed the door, hoping to seal her pain within the room. As soon as she sat down, she covered her face with her hands. Elrohir couldn't tell with her trembling if she was crying again or just trying to hide from him.

"It's all right. It's all right, now," he said. He didn't know what to do, whether to touch her or just sit beside her, to talk or sit silently. Luckily, she decided for him, and she sat up just enough to wrap her arms around his middle and hold onto him as if he were all she had.

"I'm here," he murmured. His hand ran over her head and her tight curls. "It's all right, Anordil. I'm here."

It took several minutes for her to calm down, and she stilled in his arms. She pulled away. He could tell by the stoniness of her face that she was embarrassed at having been caught so vulnerable. She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve.

"What happened?" he asked. She shook her head.

"I confide in you. Please, I only ask the same in return."

She swallowed, grit her teeth. Her voice was hoarse.

"I was sorting through his things. I packed them in a hurry before I came here. I had not seen that." A gift for the anniversary that never came to pass.

"I hope that you will trust me enough to come to me on your low days, as I come to you on mine," he said. "I do not know your pain. But I hope that I can ease your mind."

She said nothing, so he didn't know if she agreed. She lifted her red-rimmed eyes to his face.

"You are too kind for your own good," she managed. She stood and took a long, shaking breath. "…I am going to lay down for a while."

She went through to the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

* * *

It seemed that she had listened to him.

It was Monday morning. Elrohir was at work at his desk, writing to the Head Healer in Gondor, Limmon. He was requesting information and samples of the drugs they used in the Halls of Mental Healing there.

The door opened. Anordil was there.

"Anordil," he said, and the greeting held a note of surprise. She was not usually here so early in the morning; usually she joined him just before breakfast, but the sun had not yet risen. Her face was eerily solemn.

"Are you all right?" She shook her head. He could not seem to break through the wall of her silence. He moved to the couch, so they could sit next to one another. He put his arm around her shoulder and she leaned into his side for several long minutes.

"The days after he died," she finally said, and even in the silence he could barely hear her. "I could not find it in myself to move, to breathe. I do not know how I lived." She closed her eyes. Elrohir watched her neck bob as she swallowed thickly.

"I did not want to live, truly. I wanted to fade so that we would be reunited. And afterwards, when I had recovered some, it occurred to me…" She opened her eyes, and they were dark.

"I  _should_  have faded. That is what wives do when their husbands die." The finality of the statement made Elrohir shiver. "Why didn't I? Did I not love him enough?"

The words lingered.

"You did love him, I'm sure," Elrohir said. "But you are too strong to be killed by grief. He would not begrudge you the chance at life here, of fulfilling your purpose on this side of the sea. At least, from what I know of him, and from what I know of love, I am sure he's glad you lived."

The air around her seemed to ease just slightly at the statement. She pondered it for a few moments.

"I had not thought about it that way," she said. She peered up at him with that strange, analytical look in her eye again.

"You have your father's wisdom," she said. He smiled a little.

"I am honored that you think so."

They lapsed into silence. He was glad he could make her feel better, for even though her face was still sad, the terrible grief had left it.

* * *

A week later, Elladan and Elrohir went to the family living room. Their parents had scheduled that they get their hair cut today, so that it would be neat for the ceremony. Elladan went first.

"The same as usual?" the servant asked him. Elladan and Elrohir had always had their hair the same length since they had started training under Glorfindel. Glorfindel's rule, motivated by his own death, was that trainees could not have hair past their shoulders.

"Yes. I think for a time I will keep it short—it's practical, and respectful to Glorfindel," Elladan said. The servant nodded and began to snip.

"Adar?" Elrohir asked, a thought suddenly occurring to him. Elrond was reading a book on the other side of the room, occasionally glancing up at his sons. He looked at Elrohir with one eyebrow raised.

"Do the rules about hair length apply to field-healers?"

Elrond thought on it for a moment.

"I don't think so."

The thought sent a thrill through his stomach. He'd never liked the feeling of cutting his hair short; he preferred it longer, and it had grown by now a fair distance down his back.

Elladan stood and the cape around his shoulders was removed. Another servant went to sweep up the dark waves of hair on the floor. Elladan ran his fingers through his now-short hair and smiled to Elrohir as he took his seat.

"The same for you?" the first servant asked as he draped the cape around Elrohir. Elrohir shook his head.

"No, thank you. Just a trim, please—I want it as long as possible."

The servant obliged. Elrohir's hair was several inches longer than Elladan's now that the older twin had most of it cut off. Elrond looked up at them and smiled when he saw how different they looked from one another.

"No one will get us confused anymore!" Elladan said, laughing. Elrohir smiled.

"No, they won't."

* * *

They sat with Elrond after that and discussed at length the logistics of the ceremony; each event was to occur at a specific time, neither a minute late nor early. First, they would each present their projects. They would then receive their appointed positions for the next portion of their lives. The design for their new chambers would be unveiled, for it would no longer be appropriate for them to live in their parents' suite. They'd then be crowned as official heirs to Elrond's title; before, lordship would have gone to a custodian until Elladan came of age. Elladan would be announced as the first in line, Elrohir as second.

With that, the dinner and festivities would begin.

It was going to be a long day. Such ceremonies normally took less than an hour, but with the two of them together and the fact that they needed the extra step of being crowned, everything would take longer.

They'd talked about the projects; they'd each have twenty minutes to present their projects in detail to the crowd of spectators, and they could use whatever materials they wished for. It was highly recommended that they practice their presentations several times and tried to memorize them but bring a script or outline with them. Many people blanked in front of so many expectant faces.

"The next thing we must discuss is your crowning. Elladan, you will be crowned first, Elrohir second. I've put in for designs for your circlets, and I'd like you to look at them and point out any adjustments you want made." He passed them each a paper.

Elrohir looked at the design Elrond had put in his hands. It was pretty but underwhelming. He peeked over Elladan's shoulder; his design was quite a bit grander. Elrohir's design had no gems, but Elladan's had a ruby at the front in the shape of a teardrop where it would fall on his forehead, just above the space between his brows.

"I actually wanted to talk to you about the crowning itself, Adar," Elladan said. He'd hardly even glanced at the design before he put it back on the desk.

"I—I know it's unconventional. So please don't say that when you hear," Elladan said. "I wanted to know if it was possible for the both of us to be crowned as your first heir."

"That would not make sense, Elladan," Elrond said, but his face was kind even as he criticized the idea. "Which of you would then take my position? Even if it is only by a few minutes, you are the eldest, by birth, at least."

" _Both_  of us would take your position. As co-lords," Elladan said. Elrohir's gaze shot to him, and he could feel Elrond's eyes on him, asking if he had known about this.

"If that is not acceptable, then I would like to step down as your first heir and give the position to Elrohir," Elladan said. Elrohir's eyes grew wide. "He is wiser than me, and certainly more patient and a better diplomatist. I cannot fill your shoes—he can." Elladan looked to him, and Elrohir felt as if the moment was in slow motion, the sight of his brother's earnest face and kind eyes as he told Elrohir that he was  _better_  at something. That he was capable of being a leader in a way that Elladan was not. The admission knocked the air from his lungs and made him feel dizzy.

They were both looking to him now. He sucked in a breath and tried to focus.

"I—I would argue we'd be better together," Elrohir said. "But if it is truly unacceptable and it is the wish of both of you, I would accept such a nomination."

"I must discuss this at length with the council before I can give you a decision," was all that Elrond said. He moved swiftly on to discussing the festivities, and Elrohir found it hard to hear him over how loudly his heart sung.

* * *

Elrohir buried himself in the work that his project required. He'd received Limmon's reply from Gondor and had sent the drug samples to the healers who had volunteered to help him. They would identify the plants and, if possible, retrieve more of each. The drug trials could start as soon as supplies were stocked. He had contacted all of the potential counselors on Erestor's list.

He talked it over with Anordil. She was smart and saw things more simply when he became wrapped in complexities.

"I've got five confirmed counselors, five not confirmed, and two denied," he muttered, checking names off his list. "I'll have to send a reminder to those who haven't confirmed. I need to know. Limmon sent me the training regimen for the counselors in Gondor, and it's not too long. Most of my candidates already have a background as advisors and counselors anyway. I must get them to start the program."

She chuckled and shook her head at him.

"Yes, you should do that. But first, you must eat your breakfast." She pointed at the food before him. "It's going cold."

Reluctantly he slid away from his desk to eat.

"How are you?" she asked. They always started their conversations that way, with a simple question to one another and an honest answer.

"Better, I think," he said. "Though it is hard to tell when I am so busy. But I feel the need to go to Glorfindel less often now, and I'm not as terribly tired. I'm happy with what I'm doing. That helps."

"That is good."

"How are you?"

"Depends on the day," she said. "Today, I am all right."

He chewed for a minute before he spoke again.

"Do you think it would be worth it for me to volunteer for one of the drug trials?"

"The ones you are setting up in your new Halls?"

"Yes. Limmon sent me samples of the drugs they use in Gondor, and I hope to test them here. Some of them are for…melancholia specifically, and anxiety." The fact that there were words for what ailed him made them real, and he was still getting used to the idea of them as true illnesses.

"It could not hurt to try," she said. "And who knows? You have more mannish blood than the others here, so if it will work for anyone, it ought to work for you."

The thought was encouraging.

"I think I will start only after the ceremony. There…is too much going on right now for me to monitor my response properly."

She smiled.

"Good idea."

* * *

It was the beginning of September. Elrohir had managed to get himself out of bed, but once he was dressed, he couldn't muster the energy to go to his desk and start the work ahead. It seemed like too much. There was too much to do, and his head was much too cloudy to focus on anything.

The door opened without a knock. Anordil was there. Her face was dark and stony.

She looked him over, taking in the sight of him sitting on the floor with his messy hair and his tired eyes. It looked like she was going to turn and go.  _We are both having low days; we cannot support one another._

"Don't go," Elrohir managed. He swallowed as she looked back to him.

"Just…come sit with me." Just saying those few words had made him exhausted. She paused for a moment and then came in as he bid her, closing the door and going to sit on the floor behind him. She leaned against him and he against her, and they sat there in silence. The simple contact, the warmth of her strong back against his own, made him feel much better.

* * *

That Thursday, Elrohir was cleaning out his desk. He discarded broken quill nibs and old papers. In the bottom drawer he found a stack of parchment, the letters that he had written and not dared to share with anyone else.

"What are you up to?" Anordil asked. She'd come to fetch him for breakfast. He put the pile hastily aside.

"I am cleaning."

"What are those?" As she came forward he grasped the pile of letters to his chest, so she would not read them.

"Letters. I wrote them when my father had me doing it, but these were the personal ones that I would not have anyone else read."

He slid the pile back into the bottom drawer and buried it under his notes for the new Halls of Mental Healing, where it was unlikely that he would find them again for some time. He looked up at her. There were bags under her eyes. Though Elrohir himself needed to sleep every night due to his human blood, most full-elves could go many days without rest. It looked like she had gone a few too many.

"You ought to sleep," he told her as they went down to the dining hall.

"My mind is restless," she said. She'd had more low days as of late. She had revealed to him that it was because it was around the time of year when Feldir had died. It was not as bad this year, she told him, because she could go to Elrohir when she needed to.

"You know what I think you should do?" Elrohir said. The idea came upon him suddenly. "You should write letters, too. They don't have to be to anyone at all if you don't want them to be. Or you could write to him and save them up and take them with you when you sail someday. So that he might know of your life here once you are reunited."

He watched her face go through a series of emotions, grief, anger at his insolence, and eventual thoughtfulness. As they entered the dining hall, she spoke so softly that he could hardly tell what she said.

"I might," she said. "I just might."

* * *

Evaluations would take place in a week. Elrohir would have to give treatment options for a list of hypothetical cases as part of his exam. He'd pass in papers he'd been working on for some time, describing in detail the conditions of the five patients he had seen from start to finish and whose care he had completed completely on his own. All five had made full recoveries. He wrote their conditions when they arrived, what choices he made and why, and kept a log of their progress, with sketches and descriptions included. The field exam was just showing he had endurance and completing physical tests.

He felt well-prepared for the exams. Thus, he spent the week working on his presentation for his project at the ceremony instead.

Elladan opened the door between their rooms.

"Will you listen to me present?" Elladan asked him. Elrohir nodded. Elladan handed him the script so that Elrohir could make sure he said everything the way he was supposed to.

Elladan's project was the addition of strategy training to novice training so that those who were likely to become captains could be identified earlier, thus speeding up the process to get to higher levels within the guard and the military. Additionally, all trainees would have some understanding of strategy so that if there was a situation where the captain was killed or injured, even a group of only trainees would be able to make an effective strike. He had his script memorized and at the parts where he didn't have it perfectly, he was confident enough to improvise and make his point.

"It's good," Elrohir said. He handed Elladan the script paper back.

"I don't think I'll bring my script. I think I'll jinx it if I do."

"Whatever suits you," Elrohir said. Elladan smiled and retreated to his room.

* * *

Though he was confident he'd done fine with his evaluation in healing and the field exam, Elrohir felt a sense of dread and anxiety after he'd finished; he blamed it on the exams and went about his day. The ceremony was now less than a month away, so his time was split between finishing his project, working in the Healing Halls, and practicing his script, over and over until he could say it backwards and in his sleep. He'd practiced in front of Erestor, and then Glorfindel, and then Elrond and Celebrían, and then Elladan, and then Anordil. It was as polished as he could get it, and exactly twenty minutes long if he spoke at the right pace.

He was sitting at his desk, reading and trying to relax when Elrond stepped in and motioned for him to join him in the living room. Elrohir did. Elladan was there already.

"I talked to the council about your request for co-lordship," Elrond said to Elladan as Elrohir sat down. "They've approved it."

Elladan grinned and clapped his brother's shoulder. Elrohir managed a smile.

"I need you to look over your circlet design again. They'll hopefully be made by tomorrow evening, so you can try them on." They'd already been measured for them in the humorous process of wrapping a measuring tape around different parts of their heads. Elrond handed them only one paper, which Elladan took and held where they could both see.

It was much like the one that had first been offered to Elladan, but this time the gem was a rich purple. Elrohir looked it over.

"Is it purple because I like blue?" he asked. Elladan's favorite color was red. Elrond nodded. Elrohir thought it was quite clever that they would both have purple, to show they were together.

"I want—" He wanted them to be different enough from each other that they weren't just the same. He thought for a minute. "Could there be, say, around the large gem, smaller ones, outlining it? Mine would be blue and Elladan's would be red. It would be symbolic—that we are one and the same, and yet our own."

"Very poetic," Elladan said. Elrond seemed to approve of this; he was always weak for embedded symbolism. Elrohir sketched a few lines to show what he meant, and Elrond said he would take the design to the craftsman right away.

* * *

Elrohir could tell that Anordil was going to give him ill tidings when she walked in.

There was an uncertainty about her. Usually, she was decisive, but now she hesitated even before closing the door and coming to sit beside him. She did not sit as close as she usually did. Still, there was a resoluteness on her face, a quiet calm and strength. She might've been queenly, he thought, in another life.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I have been writing letters, as you suggested. It has helped." There was more to it than that, he could tell. He waited patiently for her to gather the courage to speak again.

"I received a letter from Queen Amardeth of Eryn Galen, just yesterday. She is with child and will soon be taking time away from her position as Head Healer there to birth and raise the baby. She asked if I would go and serve in that interim."

"Will you go?" His throat was suddenly clogged.

"I will. I have written to her already. She and her family will be coming for the ceremony, and when they leave the day after, I will return with them."

The silence sat precariously between them. Elrohir wanted to demand she stay, but he could never demand anything of her. She wouldn't bend to his will anyway. If she decided that she was leaving, then she would leave, and he could not stop her.

"I wish you would stay," he said. He hated how pitiful his voice sounded. Her face softened, and she reached to rest her hand on his knee.

"Do you remember that metaphor you always use? With the rain?"

He nodded.

"Who was it, in that story, that pulled you out of the rain?"

"Elladan," Elrohir said. Understanding dawned on him.

"I am leaving, now, and you must learn to rely on him again. He is your brother, and you are his. It is your duty to support one another," she said. "He knows you even better than I do. It is time you two were brought together again."

She was right. He knew she was right, and that was why his heart hurt so much, and why his eyes burned with tears. She looked up at him. She smiled, wiping his tears away with gentle hands.

"Do not mourn for me, Elrohir. I am finally going home."


	12. Part 4, Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It was October fourth, the twins' hundredth begetting day, and the day of their coming-of-age ceremony.

The two of them woke early. Their mother and her handmaidens followed them and hovered once they'd returned to the family suite after breakfast. They were not to leave the room again until it was time for the ceremony.

They both went to bathe, Elladan in Elrond and Celebrían's private washroom and Elrohir in the family washroom.

The water was steaming, scented with oils. Elrohir slowly lowered himself into the water, closing his eyes and letting himself relax for a few minutes. The water was dyed silver with shimmering glitter and fragrance, and it slid over his skin with a silky touch.

He took the bar of soap his mother had picked for him from the side of the tub. It was white and smelled of roses. He brought it to a lather in his hands.

He paused to examine his hands amidst the bubbles. The scars were nearly gone; all that was left from the ordeal were the fading white lines upon his palms.

He could remember it like it was yesterday. Yet his mental state, he liked to think, had improved significantly since then. He would not have been able to feel this contentment then.

He did not doubt that he would have low days still. But he was stronger now. Pride swelled in his breast.

Finally, he drew his attention back to the task at hand.

He washed his hair and body with the soaps his mother had picked for him. He rose reluctantly from the water and put on a bathrobe. Elladan was already sitting in the living room, smelling strongly of citrus, when Elrohir emerged. The room had been rearranged, the furniture pushed to the edges, to give the ladies space to move about the two of them.

Elrohir went to sit at his seat. His mother came to him, smiling, and got a comb and oils, combing every tangle from his hair. When it was smooth, she put oil on the comb and combed it through, and then put some on her hands and ran it over his hair every few minutes as it started to dry.

"I'm so glad you've grown your hair," she said. "It suits you."

"Does that mean mine does not suit me?" Elladan joked. Celebrían shook her head, laughing.

"No. Yours suits you in its own way, too."

"There is no way a child of yours could be anything less than beautiful," Elrond said, coming up behind his wife and looking over to smile at Elrohir and Elladan. Elrohir smiled back at him. He could feel the excitement in his heart growing, but at the same time so was his fear.

"I am nervous," he admitted to Elladan. Mentioning it aloud made it dissipate some.

"Me too," Elladan said. Elrohir was surprised by the way Elladan's voice held the barest hint of a tremble.

"You don't need to be," Celebrían said. She ran her oiled hands through Elrohir's hair one last time, now that it was dry. "You'll both do wonderfully." She brought a mirror for Elrohir to look at his hair, and he did so, admiring the way it shone and caught the light and kept its silky sheen as it moved in waves.

"Thank you," he said to Celebrían. She smiled to him.

"We must braid it now," she said. She looked between Elladan and Elrohir as if trying to decide whose she wanted to do. Elrond put a hand on her arm.

"I'll do Elrohir—you do Elladan. I am more practiced with the healing braids than you are."

It was widespread tradition that all braids had a symbolic meaning; particularly in the setting of the ceremony, each had to be done just right. Elladan would have a large braid down the back of his head to signify that he was a true warrior at last, and then two snaking around his ears to indicate that he was the heir to the lord. Elrohir would have the same by his ears, but the back of his head would have three smaller braids that came into a ponytail to show that he was qualified as a healer. Elrond began with the ones at the back of his head, and Elrohir could feel him twisting strands together tightly into their plaits.

While he did so, one of the handmaidens brought to Elrohir a small container of lotion, scented like roses as well, to put on his hands and face. It was cool on his cheeks as he waited for it to sink in.

"If you wish," Elrond said softly from behind him. "Now that you have finished your training, I could begin to help you to develop your abilities. Of course, you do not need to decide today, but it is something to think about."

"I would like that." He smiled and closed his eyes. He could nearly feel Elrond smile, even though he was not looking at him.

It took nearly an hour for Elrond to finish his hair. Elladan's took half as long, for it was a simpler style and was so short. Elladan went to the other room to dress.

"You look  _dashing,_  darling," Celebrían said when Elladan emerged in his tunic. It was a strong gold that suited him, and he had the deep red robe over one arm. He wore dark brown pants and tall boots. Celebrían stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. Elrond glanced up from Elrohir's hair to give his nod of approval.

"Nearly done," Elrond promised Elrohir. He was itching to see it, and to get dressed, now that he'd seen Elladan in his clothes. Elladan sat back down in his chair and the ladies set to decorating his face, using powder and paint.

"Finished," Elrond said. He offered Elrohir the mirror, and Elrohir took a moment to admire the handsome braids, and how shiny his hair still looked when in them. He turned to his father to thank him, but it seemed that the look on his face had spoken for him.

"Go get dressed," Elrond said with a smile. Elrohir went to his room to do so.

His clothes were where he'd left them, carefully folded and laid on his desk. He took off his bathrobe and put on his trousers, dark grey, and his boots, and then his undershirt and silver tunic. He pulled the dark blue robe over his shoulders, as well as the blue sash that went at his waist, and admired himself in the mirror for a moment. The embroidery on his robe was swirling silver, and it reminded him of stars, and in a way, of his mother's hair. He stepped back into the living room.

Celebrían covered her mouth at the sight of him. She came forward to hug him tightly, careful of his hair.

"You look beautiful," she whispered. Elrohir smiled.

"Thank you," he said softly. He went to sit, and the ladies came to decorate him as well. He looked briefly at Elladan—he now had a shimmer along his cheekbones that glowed gold when it caught the light, and his eyelids were painted gold that glimmered when he blinked. There was a line of gold paint down the center of his lips, and he looked ethereal and beautiful in the light.

Two ladies came to stand before Elrohir's chair.

"Close your eyes," the first instructed. He did so, and he felt the prodding of her little brush as she painted his eyelids.

"Open." She drew under his eyes with the silver paint on a tiny brush, and his eyes watered. The second lady came forward to lightly dab at his eyes with a towel.

"Open your mouth." He did, and she painted a line down the middle of his lips. At last she took a large, soft brush and dabbed it in silvery powder. It reminded him suddenly of the powdered concealer he had put on his face all those months ago.

He looked himself over in the mirror. There was a contrast between the silver and his own olive skin that did not exist with Elladan's gold, but Elrohir liked it. He tilted his face and as his cheekbones caught the light, they shone like the silver glow of stars.

Food was brought to them on trays for lunch. Once they'd finished eating, the handmaidens added their final touches and told them to stand so they could admire their handiwork.

They stood side-by-side. As she looked at them, Elrohir could see tears gathering in Celebrían's eyes.

"My babies," she whispered, choked, and Elrond came to hug her from behind and hold her to his chest. "My babies are all grown."

"We are still young yet, Naneth," Elladan said, moving forward to kiss her brow. Elrohir came silently behind him, taking her hand in his own and raising it to his lips to kiss it softly.

"It is time to go," Elrond said. Celebrían nodded and wiped her eyes. Elladan went to gather his things for his project, and so did Elrohir. He paused over his desk once he had sorted everything.

He heard Elladan go through to the living room. Elrohir slipped into Elladan's bedroom, taking from his desk the script that he was determined to leave behind.  _Just in case._

* * *

They went through the back hallways, cutting through the empty library to get to the back door of the dining hall. Elrohir could hear through the oak door the hustle and bustle within.

The hallway was small and somewhat dim, lit only by the light filtering in from the library behind. The four of them stood in silence for a moment, the only sound their soft breathing.

"Are you ready?" A new voice. Erestor came down the hallway from the library. He was dressed in his finest robes, along with the matching sash that Elrohir had bought him all those months ago.

"Yes," Elladan said for the both of them. Erestor took a moment to look them over with a critical eye, smoothing Elladan's collar and pushing Elrohir's hair back behind his ears.

"I'll see you soon." It was the closest Elrohir had seen Erestor to happy. He drew away and went back down the hall.

"It is time," Elrond said after a moment. He looked to both of his sons to make sure they were ready. Elrohir and Elladan nodded at the same time. With that, Elrond and Celebrían opened the door just enough to slip through, leaving it open a crack so that the twins could hear when they should come in.

"Good afternoon, everyone!" Elrond said, and his voice echoed through the hall. The crowd fell silent. Through the cracked door Elrohir could see the sea of faces, and he could see the section for the guests of honor. Glorfindel and Erestor were in the front row, with two seats left for Elrond and Celebrían beside them, and then another to the side of those two, assumedly for whichever twin was not on the stage at any given time. Galadriel and Celeborn were there in the row behind, and Thranduil's family was behind them. He couldn't see any further back.

"I am happy to welcome you to today's proceedings. It is always a pleasure to conduct coming-of-age ceremonies, and to see what the rising young people in our realm have to offer. With that said, I am even more pleased to conduct it when those young people are my sons. Please join me in welcoming Elladan and Elrohir."

Elladan stepped out, and Elrohir followed behind him. There was polite applause and a series of soft whoops, which drew Elrohir's attention to where Elladan's patrol group and the members of his own field group were sitting together and cheering for them. Caenir waved enthusiastically at him, and as he came to the center of the stage beside his brother, Elrohir smiled.

"I now ask that you give your attention to Master Erestor. He is a council member, our Master of Knowledge, and a good friend of mine. My sons have been blessed to have him as a tutor since they were young." Erestor stood up and came to the stage in another round of applause, and Elrond offered his arm to Celebrían, walking down the steps with her to their seats.

"The convocation for students when they come of age features the presentation of a project that they have been working on for several months. Each of Elrond's sons have completed such a project that they will share with you today. The only requirement of the project is that it has a positive impact on the community and tailors to the student's passions. They are encouraged to design a project that is large in scope. Both projects you will hear about today are already being implemented.

"Elladan will be presenting his project first. Each will get twenty minutes to speak, and there will be a five-minute break between. Please allow us a few minutes to set up the stage for Elladan's presentation. Feel free to talk to your neighbors during this time."

A dull roar of conversation began. A few assistants came up to Elladan and asked what they should do to set up. Erestor went to sit, and Elrohir followed him off the stage. He sat on the empty chair beside his parents.

Elladan directed the assistants, but Elrohir saw that he kept glancing back at the audience, whose attention was mostly diverted by now. The assistants brought onstage easels from the hall behind and placed all of Elladan's diagrams on them. Despite the gold on his face, Elladan was beginning to look rather green.

_Come here,_  Elrohir whispered into Elladan's mind. Elladan started onstage, his eyes darting to Elrohir, and Elrohir motioned for him to come. Elladan looked around, and when no one told him he couldn't, he went down the steps to where Elrohir was sitting next to his parents.

"I can't do this," Elladan whispered. Celebrían looked like she was going to say something out the corner of Elrohir's eye, but Elrohir saw Elrond put a hand on her arm to stop her.

"You'll be fine. Just look at me when you say it, like you've done a thousand times," Elrohir said. He sorted through his pile and pulled out Elladan's script.

"But in case you do need it—" He handed the paper to Elladan. Elladan's eyes skimmed it and when he saw what it was, he let out a shaky sigh of relief. He leaned down to hold Elrohir tightly in an embrace.

Elrohir felt a memory come forth to his mind, and he could tell it was Elladan sending it to him. It was Elladan's voice, warm.  _You always know what we'll need,_  it said, from that day when they'd picnicked together in the woods. Elrohir smiled against Elladan's shoulder.

"Go, now," he said as Elladan drew back. "You'll do wonderfully."

Finally, Elladan smiled, and he turned to go back up onstage. When Elrohir turned to his parents, they were wearing matching looks of loving pride. He flushed and turned quickly away.

A minute before the presentation was due to start, Erestor returned to the stage, and a hush fell over the crowd.

"Please give your full attention to Elladan Elrondion."

Elrohir could tell that Elladan was trembling. He held the script tightly with both hands as he stepped to the center of the stage. Once Erestor was off the stage, Elladan began to read. His voice shook with nervousness, and he still looked rather queasy.

At the end of the first paragraph, Elladan glanced up, and his gaze met Elrohir's. Elrohir nodded, giving him the assurance that he was doing just fine. Elladan's voice grew more confident, and he looked away from the script more often, but he didn't stop reading it.

Elladan spoke faster in his nervousness, and he finished a couple of minutes early. As soon as the applause faded, the assistants scurried to put Elladan's figures away and pull Elrohir's out.

Elladan descended the stairs and sat heavily in the chair as Elrohir stood from it. He put a hand to his forehead, leaning back in the chair and trying to look as dramatic and as drained as possible.

"I didn't know you had stage fright," Glorfindel said to Elladan. Elladan groaned.

"Neither did I!" he said. Elrohir could not resist a chuckle. He felt anxiety coiling in his stomach, but in comparison to his worst days, it really wasn't that bad. He began to walk to the stage, and their voices followed him with a chorus of good lucks. A hand on his shoulder stopped him and he turned to find Erestor there. Erestor rested his hands on Elrohir's shoulders.

"Go forth cloaked with our love, and know that the battle is behind you, not ahead."

Elrohir nodded. Erestor smiled to him and then released him, and Elrohir climbed up onto the stage to supervise the setup. He was reeling from Erestor's smile—he had barely ever seen it before.

He rested his papers on one of the easels. He still didn't feel  _that_  nervous. He knew what he was doing. He peered around the crowd for more faces that he knew. Finally, his eyes landed on Anordil near the middle of the group, and he knew that now, he had somewhere to look.

Erestor came up to introduce him. When the smattering of applause ended, Elrohir stood towards the edge of the stage and smiled.

"Under Erestor, I've received a vigorous teaching of history." He was off-script already. But his script was long and boring, and if he wanted it, he now had two extra minutes to fill from Elladan. "Far more vigorous than I could have imagined when I started. Elven history, of course, took preference, but mannish history too was often in the mix, by my father's request. In fact, I bet I could tell you the year of any major event—someone shout one out."

There was a brief second of silence during which his confidence plummeted, but then one of the mannish kings called out.

"The founding of Gondor!" he said. There was a man to his right who was dressed in the robes of a healer, and Elrohir realized he was the Head of Healing. He smiled.

"The year 3320 of the Second Age," Elrohir said. The king nodded that he was correct.

"And what was the name of Gondor's first king's great-great-grandfather?" he asked.

"Eärendur," Elrohir answered without hesitation. Internally, he breathed a sigh of relief. Erestor looked rather pleased that he remembered. The king of Gondor seemed to have had his fun, and he waved for Elrohir to continue.

"One of the things that astounds me most about history is how it contributes so much to our daily lives. Especially living among elves, there are people alive in my community who I can go to and ask about any given event. And as I have begun training as a healer, I've found that many of the healing practices that we use today are founded in the past. Yet, I propose that there is somewhere where our history and our present are both lacking in terms of elven healing, and that is the field of mental health."

He left a pause after this.

"A few of you may have heard the term mental health before. It was actually coined by the healers of Gondor near the time of its founding." He nodded to the King and Head Healer, both of whom looked quite pleased. "The healers of Men have focused often and intensely on the topic. Elven healers have not. I know that from my own experience.

"Earlier this year, I began having overwhelming feelings, and they were not good ones. They were hopelessness that tied me to my bed, dread that coiled in my gut, and a loneliness that made me feel I was worth nothing. There didn't seem to be a cause. I drew away from my family because I felt like I would never feel good again.

"If I had lived in a society of Men, I doubt that I would have felt as isolated and as afraid as I did, because those societies acknowledge mental illness and have services in place to treat them. When I learned of this, I decided that my project would be to create Halls of Mental Health, modeled on the ones in Gondor, here in Imladris, to help those who have felt anything like the way I did. I don't want  _anyone_  to have to go through that alone. Before I continue, I would like to thank Head Healer Limmon of Gondor, who provided me with many of the resources I needed to get this project off the ground." He gestured to the man, and there was a brief round of applause for him.

Elrohir went on to describe the ailments that he had found described in the records of Gondor. He described each one and his own experience with melancholia and anxiety.

He then talked about the various medicines and therapy strategies that were used in Gondor to help with each condition. When all the background information was covered, he could finally describe the location and functioning of the Halls.

"The Halls for Mental Health are on the fourth floor of the Healing Halls. Each of the wings are devoted to a particular issue. If there are enough people involved, group sessions, among the most effective therapies, will be possible for people with each problem. We hope to run trials of the drugs used in Gondor to see if they can also be helpful for elves. These trials will be done under the watchful care of some of our most experienced healers, who have graciously volunteered for the task."

He took a breath. He was running short on time—Erestor held two fingers in front of his chest to signify that he had two minutes.

"I hope that the Halls will be helpful to many people, but if even one person's suffering was eased, that would be enough for me. I urge you to visit, even if you don't think that you have any issues in terms of mental health, to learn more about each condition than I could give in this presentation's time limit. Mental health as a concept has been ignored throughout our entire history, and it afflicts so many people. It is a tragedy that it is so. If you or anyone you know has any symptoms like I described, please reach out to the counselors there—they are not judgmental in the slightest, and one of them has helped me." He looked briefly to Erestor.

"I also hope that the founding of the Halls will spur conversation about this issue in our community. With awareness, support, and treatment, we can help those among us who are most vulnerable. Thank you for your time."

The applause was polite but resounding, and Elrohir was content with how he'd done. Erestor came to the stage as Elrohir descended.

"The next piece of our program is the designation of new chambers. Elladan and Elrohir have the choice between separate rooms on either side of the hall on the second floor, or two rooms off a shared living room on the third. This, and the announcement of positions, will be performed by Glorfindel, our Master of Arms."

Elladan stood from his chair and retreated with Elrohir to the side of the room, away from all ears.

"Which do you prefer?" Elrohir asked.

"I cannot imagine living apart from you," Elladan said. Elrohir smiled a little.

"I was thinking the same," he said. "The third floor, then."

Erestor had left the stage, and Glorfindel had gone up. He was wearing exquisite robes, his colors a combination of sky blue and gold that only he could pull off.

Elladan and Elrohir joined him on stage.

"Elladan, which room have you chosen?" Glorfindel asked him.

"We will both live on the third floor," Elladan said. Glorfindel looked to Elrohir, and Elrohir nodded his agreement. Glorfindel handed each of them a silver key, which had the room number on it.

"Excellent. Now is the question of your occupations. Elladan, please step forward."

Elladan stood to stand beside Glorfindel. Glorfindel opened a small scroll and read from it.

"Elladan Elrondion, you will be a patrolman and second-in-command under Captain Sílon. You also will be acting as my personal assistant when you are at home, with the possibility of promotion to second-in-command under me if you prove yourself worthy." Elrohir felt a swell of pride for his brother and he grinned for him. Elladan's eyes were sparkling.

"This contract would last for a minimum of ten years. Will you accept it?"

"I will," Elladan said. A quill was brought to him and Glorfindel held the scroll against a board for him to sign. He did so with a flourish. Applause followed.

"Elrohir, please come forward." They switched places. As soon as his back was to the audience, Elladan was grinning, and Elrohir smiled back at him.

He came beside Glorfindel and looked at him. Glorfindel took out the second scroll and began once again to read.

"Elrohir Elrondion, you will serve as the field healer for Captain Sílon's patrol. At home, you will train under the Head of Healing and, should you prove yourself worthy, eventually be promoted to her second-in-command." Elrohir's heart stopped for a moment and then began a frantic pace at the idea of it. He'd never considered that he could have a position of power in the Halls at the same time as he served as a field healer; the thought was baffling.

"This contract will last for a minimum of ten years. Will you accept it?"

"I will," Elrohir said, breathless. He signed the scroll neatly, carefully, finding it hard to believe he wasn't dreaming of this moment. The applause rose and faded.

"We will now move on to the declaration of heirs, which will be conducted by Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían," Glorfindel said. He took the scrolls and went down the steps to his seat, and Elrond and Celebrían came up onto the stage.

From the sides of the stage, two servants brought the circlets. They were polished and shining, and they were displayed to the crowd to be admired before they were brought to Elrond and Celebrían. Elrond took Elladan's and Celebrían Elrohir's, holding it for him so that he could put it on Elrohir's head once he was finished with Elladan.

"This realm faces unusual circumstances in the fact that my sons are twins, and as such, I have two heirs who come of age at the same time. I had initially thought that Elladan, who is barely the eldest by birth, would be my first heir. However, I spoke with Elladan, and he told me he wished to share the duty with his brother or give it to him altogether, citing their closeness and Elrohir's diplomatic prowess.

"As such, neither son will be my first heir. They will both by my first heir, and if they rise as lords of this realm, they will rise as co-lords and rule together.

"Elladan, please come forward," Elrond said. Elladan came forward, kneeling as he had been told he should on one knee, head bowed, before his father.

"Elladan Elrondion, do you accept your status as an heir to the lordship of this realm, and agree to protect it with your life and do your utmost to promote peace and prosperity in the event that you should rise to power as its lord?"

"I do," Elladan said. Elrond placed the circlet lightly on his head, reverently.

"Rise," he told Elladan, and Elladan did so. Celebrían gave Elrohir's circlet to Elrond as Elladan moved to his right to the sound of applause.

"Elrohir, please come forward," Elrond said. Elrohir did, dropping to one knee and bowing his head. His heart was pounding in his ears.

"Elrohir Elrondion, do you accept your status as an heir to the lordship of this realm, and agree to protect it with your life and do your utmost to promote peace and prosperity in the event that you should rise to power as its lord?"

"I do," Elrohir said. The circlet came to rest on his head, and its weight was comfortable.

"Rise." He did so, and moved to his mother's left, so that their family stood in a line. He looked across to Elladan, who was grinning wide, and smiled back to him.

"I present to you the heirs to the realm of Imladris," Elrond said. The applause increased to a roar and Elrohir felt his smile widen.

"That concludes today's proceedings. It will take a few minutes for our staff to convert this room back into a dining hall. In the meantime, there are starters out in the garden and on the field," Elrond said, indicating to the outdoors through the large glass doors. "If you've brought gifts for the twins, please leave them on the table out there. Thank you all for coming."

The trainees scrambled to their feet and ran for the door, wanting first dibs on the food. Elrohir grabbed Elladan's arm before he could follow them as they went down the stairs.

" _Walk_ ," he said with a sternness that sounded exactly like Erestor, and after a moment both of them burst into laughter.

"Don't act like you're not hungry!" Elladan said. "I can tell you're hungry."

"Yes, that's why I'm walking towards the food. Very dignified, see?" Elrohir said, tilting his chin up so he could look down his nose at Elladan. Elladan burst into laughter again.

"You look just like Erestor!" he cried, and Elrohir grinned, dropping the impression. People congratulated them as they moved through the crowd and out into the cool air.

The presents table was filling startlingly quickly. Elrohir wondered how he'd know what gifts were for him and which were for Elladan; he supposed there was probably two of everything. He went to the food table and immediately began to eat, and Elladan next to him did the same. Once they had eaten just enough to quiet their grumbling stomachs, they went to speak to their friends.

They split up naturally, as Elladan headed first to his training group and Elrohir went immediately to Anordil. When he reached her, she grinned and threw her arms around him.

"Your presentation was incredible," she told him. "Much better than your script. No offense."

"None taken," he said, laughing. His face saddened at the thought that this would likely be the last time he saw her for a long time.

"Find me after dinner, all right? I don't want this to be goodbye," he said. She nodded and pushed him gently away, and he turned to see what she was pushing him towards. It was Queen Amardeth of Eryn Galen, coming towards him.

"Lord Elrohir," she said by way of greeting. "I wanted to thank you—your talk was spectacular. Many in Eryn Galen have been left scarred by the loss of loved ones in battle, and I know that such measures as you've put in place would be a great help to them. I hope you don't mind me copying the idea," she said. He smiled at her.

"Not at all! I am thrilled to hear you will," he said. "I can send you the detailed plans, if you'd like them. Anordil also knows the process nearly as well as I do—she was very helpful to me through these last months."

"I am glad to hear the two of you are friends. She is one of our best."

Elrohir nodded.

"I am sad to see her go. But I know she's happy to be going home."

The queen nodded, saying her goodbye and moving past him to talk to Anordil herself. Elrohir moved to greet the Head of Healing from Gondor, and they talked for some time, until Elrond called that everyone should go inside for dinner.

* * *

The rest of the night went without a hitch. Well, there was a little hitch when King Thranduil tried to get them to have a glass of Dorwinion each as their first drinks, an idea which Elrond vehemently opposed. Elladan argued with him for a while until Elrond conceded that they could try something less potent and would save the bottle from Thranduil to try another day, when they were alone in the privacy of their rooms.

Dinner was delicious. Afterwards, there was dancing, the singing of merry songs, and general excitement. Anordil found Elrohir as she said she would.

"I do not know how to say goodbye to you," Elrohir said.

"Then don't," Anordil said. "It will not be long before you receive my first letter, and you may consider a lack of goodbye an open invitation to visit Eryn Galen whenever you wish," she said. He liked that idea, and he told her so. She laughed and embraced him and then went to dance, and he did not see her again for the rest of the night.

Elrohir enjoyed himself. The light buzz of alcohol quelled his anxiety for a time, and he danced and sang and laughed so hard he couldn't breathe. He would remember the night fondly for the rest of his life.

* * *

It was the wee hours of the morning when the party winded down. The guests retired to their chambers after saying goodbye to both of them, and eventually, even Glorfindel, Erestor, and their parents had retired. The Hall of Fire was empty save the two of them, sitting on plush chairs, limp with tiredness.

"Elladan?" Elrohir said. Elladan raised his head to look at him with bleary eyes.

"Hm?"

"I want to—" He stopped himself. "I had a good time today."

"Me too," Elladan said. He smiled a little, and Elrohir smiled back.

"Anordil is leaving in the morning," Elrohir said. He sobered at the thought. "She—when she told me, she told me that it was time I stop hiding myself away from you, and that I ought to trust you to support me, even if my mental health declines again. And that I should be there to support you, too." Elladan considered this for a moment.

"Do you want to try to build our bond again?" Elladan asked. Elrohir nodded. Elladan's smile widened.

"Me too." He reached to grab Elrohir's hand, holding onto it lightly. Elrohir sighed a little, but it was a happy sigh, relieved. It felt like he'd been climbing a mountain, steeper in some places and nearly flat in others, for his entire life, and now he could look out at the view from the top. He was giddy with happiness.

Elladan's eyelids were drooping. Elrohir smiled and stood, tugging at his brother's arm.

"Come now. It's time for bed."

Elladan stood with a groan. Elrohir chuckled and they walked upstairs to their new rooms, hand in hand, leaning on one another and laughing softly in the quiet halls of the early morning. One thought ran through Elrohir's mind, soft as a summer breeze, and he knew it was Elladan's.

_Together at last._


	13. Epilogue

Epilogue

_This story ends in T.A. 230._

_Anordil, upon her return to Eryn Galen, served as Head Healer there for several years. Under her jurisdiction, healers were trained in handling mental illnesses as well as physical, bringing great relief to many warriors in the wood as the forest began to darken. With time and treatment, her grief-induced depression faded. She and Elrohir remained friends for over a thousand years._

_Elladan and Elrohir worked on developing their mental and emotional bond, and within a century they could feel one another's emotions fully and glance into one another's minds as they could when they were children. Elladan became a captain of his own patrol after his ten-year contract ended in T.A. 240 and served as right-hand to Glorfindel until Celebrían's departure in T.A. 2510._

_Elrohir's depression remained due to its genetic cause. Though the drug trials in his Halls of Mental Healing found that the antidepressant drugs used in Gondor were ineffective on elven patients, his human blood meant that, as Anordil had predicted, such drugs did provide him some relief. He took them for the rest of his life on a two-month on, one month off cycle to avoid building a tolerance. He stopped taking them for a time after Celebrían's departure._

_After some time, Elrohir began to publish poetry under a pseudonym about his experiences. Though it became widely popular across the elven realms, he never revealed himself as the author. He worked as the field-healer on Elladan's patrol once his ten-year contract ended, and as the right-hand to Rivendell's Head of Healing._

_Elrohir's confidence grew and his anxiety retreated as he grew more comfortable with himself and developed his unique magical abilities. Elrond trained him for a time, after which Elrohir practiced on his own, growing more and more powerful as time passed. He grew to be one of Rivendell's most powerful healers and wisest scholars._

_Elrohir's previous challenges with his mental health left him well-prepared to deal with his grief at his mother's departure, and eventually, he helped Elladan through it as well. As Celebrían herself had once advised them to do, the twins supported one another through every challenge for the rest of their lives._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or thoughts, please comment or send me a message (on here or on my Tumblr, @prxnceling). Thank you for reading and for supporting this story, and I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I deeply appreciate comments! Thanks again.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story is the revised/updated version of my unfinished fic "Alone" from 2015.
> 
> This story is currently finished and has 12 chapters (4 parts with 3 chapters each) plus an epilogue. Chapters will post weekly on Sundays.
> 
> This story will contain some triggering elements. If you are concerned about this, please PM me and I will detail the triggering topics. ALL chapters with sensitive content will have a reader discretion warning at the beginning of the chapter and a description of the triggering content at the end, so that if you are concerned about the content you can scroll to the bottom of the chapter quickly and read the summary to know if you will be comfortable reading it. These summaries will give enough detail so that if you do not feel comfortable reading the chapter, you can still read the story's later chapters without losing your understanding of the plot.
> 
> Thank you for your support! Please leave a comment.


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